


Lover's Knot: Unraveled & Entangled

by VoiDreamer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4022422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoiDreamer/pseuds/VoiDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was time to let him go. Time to return to her clan and let him fade into memory. But ancient elven magic is not so easily left behind, and when trouble comes looking for her, the one man most capable of helping her may be the one she never intended to see again. Lavellan/Solas Pairing</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Complicated

The day that she left the rain was beating so fiercely upon the ground that only the most determined travelers dared go out. And though she had carefully crafted every other part of her trip, the rain had not been one of them. Its presence was a relief however, for the roughness of the weather suited her mood.

She needed to return home, to the forest, to her clan.

It had been years, nearly three, since she had seen them. And after so much dedicated service to the Inquisition she could ignore the call no longer. There was peace enough in Thedas that her trip would prove little issue, and if anything came up the advisors would be suitable stand-ins until she could be recalled.

It was a journey she had given much thought.

She had discussed it with those closest to her as the seasons had changed, the days of service all blending together into one seamless sense of duty. The time for duty was over for now though. And the removal of that mantle, however temporary, was a relief she dared not share with anyone.

There were some things better left unremarked, some secrets that even the closest friends need never know.

Gazing up from beneath her oiled cloak, Lavellan spied the small figures of Cassandra and Josephine in the doorway of the hall as they discussed some Inquisition business, saw Cullen putting their soldiers through their paces despite the torrential downpour.

And though she could not see Leliana, she knew her spymaster was keeping an eye on it all, the keep's sentinel and secret keeper.

Not, Lavellan knew, that Leliana knew every secret in the fortress. But it was difficult to keep things private with her agents everywhere.

These were the sort of things she knew she would miss; the familiarity of the Inquisition, the people who had come to take up residence in her heart as only close friends could. She could only hope they would forgive her when they found out the truth.

"You're certain about this?"

She looked down to see Dorian watching her, features schooled into such an expression of nonchalance that she could tell he knew something was wrong.

"You do not think I should return to my family?" She smiled as she teased him, pretending she did not see his suspicion, "I know you are not to keen on your parents, but last I heard you did not dislike them anymore."

"Yes well, they are much more acceptable when they are separated by mountain ranges and a bevy of forests and seas."

He flashed her his most charming grin as he drew closer, but the expression was lost a moment later when he eyed the too-small saddlebags and meager rations. The question in his eyes was followed by a verbal one a moment later.

"Traveling light?"

It was hard not to respond as she might have wanted to. Of all those she had met, Dorian had been the one she had felt an instant connection. An outsider, even amongst his fellow humans, she had taken one look at him and seen a kindred heart.

He had apparently seen the same.

That he was so unapologetically flamboyant had been a gift, a pleasure to balance against her more natural reserve. They had always complimented each other, and it did her no good to remember that they often could read each other's train of thought too.

She could not risk him finding out her true intentions today if she was to succeed. Her task had already taken too much strength, too much courage of the kind she was sorely lacking.

Waving away his concern, Lavellan tapped the corner of her ear, "Dalish, remember? If I'm going to fit in by the time I get home I need to remember what it's like to have to hunt for food rather than have it delivered to the door."

"Ah..." Dorian's brows rose, "I hadn't thought of that."

She grinned, "You have your customs Tevinter, and I have mine. Now, let me get going before I lose the daylight."

"You aren't planning on doing anything stupid are you?"

His abrupt question made her pause, hesitate, as her heart twisted in her chest.

"No. I don't plan on doing anything like that." Trying to smile, she gestured to where the sky was beginning to darken, "Though if you keep delaying me I may have to begin my trip in the dead of night. Not exactly stupid but foolish all the same."

She sighed when he remained unconvinced, "I am trying to leave at a reasonable hour, Dorian."

"Promise me you'll get yourself back here when it's all over."

Lavellan felt her throat tighten at the knowing look he leveled at her, nearly choked on a lie before she could find something closer to the truth.

"I will do my very best. Take care, Dorian."

Then she was gone, turning her Red Hart out of the barn and into the driving rain, small form hunching under the deluge.

Traveling with her secrets.

Dorian knew she had chosen her words with care, had purposefully avoided promising something she had no intention of keeping. And as he watched her go, his best friend who even now had refused to tell him the truth, he wondered why her words had sounded hauntingly like a goodbye.


	2. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm super thrilled with the response thus far and super touched that readers from this story on FF.net dropped me a line here. Thanks so much for your support!

She knew the precise moment she crossed into the grove.

There were no signs, no map to tell her, but she could sense it as easily as one might experience sunlight on their face. Warm, soft, a comforting embrace.

For all that she had bittersweet memories of the place, there was something nice about returning to a cove of such quiet emotion. There had been no battle fought on this land, and the blood that had been shed had been only imaginary, invisible blood from wounds that even now remained unseen despite their horrific depth.

She had lived with those wounds long enough to know they might never heal.

_Please Vhenan..._

She could hear the words so clearly it was as if he stood before her once more. Her journey here, now, was her attempt to live past it, beyond the memory of their goodbye. But her questions lingered, made it harder to let go.

_If he had wanted an end to things then why had he called her 'his heart'?_

_Why had he chosen this path apart when she knew she was strong enough to stand beside him?_

Dismounting and setting her Hart to graze, Vallien stepped deeper into the grove, moving between boughs of scented flowers and gleaming emerald foliage.

With the night still young there was no hint of those small torch-like bugs that had lit her way the last time. But there was light enough to find what she was looking for, and when she rounded the a final bend, ducked under a flowering vine and through the cave entrance, she emerged at her destination.

The twin statues of noble Harts, rising like birds from the glittering depths of the lake, their images framed by the silvery cascade of the waterfall that lay just beyond. Elegant horns twined with moss and flowers, they were just as she remembered, beautiful in their tranquility.

Disrobing slowly, easing off her armor as she neared that inky pool at the back of the grove, Vallien closed her eyes, turning inward as the air brushed the skin of her shoulder, her exposed flank.

_The veil is thin here. Can you feel it on your skin? Tingling._

She had never been as attuned to such things, not as he had been, but even now there was no missing the buzzing of energy, the whisper of something just beyond.

It had unnerved her the first time, frightened her, if she was being honest.

But with knowledge had come security, confidence, and following the events at the Temple of Mythal, Vallian knew she would never be wanting.

Even now the voices of the hundreds before her rose like an ocean wave to sing their melodious answers to questions she had yet to ask, to make sense of everything that had been too complex to even contemplate considering.

Feeling the water as it lapped at her waist she was transported back in time, and for a moment she was standing in the middle of the well once more.

Surrounded by the Temple of Mythal in silence, she would never experience such quiet again.

How long had she stayed there? Looking to those shifting waters glitter nearly black, humming with a power not unlike this grove.

Her decision to take the knowledge of the well into herself had upset Solas, perhaps even frightened him. That she had bound herself to an elven deity for the sake of insight had been unfathomable to him.

But it had been her decision, and she stood by it even now.

Feeling the silken chill against her body, Vallien returned to the present as she began to rinse away the sweat of travel. Let the water drip, dance, as it raced along the tendrils of her hair she savored each cooling drop, each cleansing breath.

This would be the last time she would visit.

The wind upon her skin, the smooth slide of water down her side, these were the things she would remember and take with her into the future. But there was one item, one memory, she had to leave behind.

Touching the bit of string that rested between her breasts, Vallien gently drew the token up until it was eye level.

So delicate this knot, so strong.

Three years spent under armor and clothing alike, it had been traveled with her on blood soaked battlefields and into the grand halls of Orleasian nobility. A testament to strength despite appearances, he had never been far from her mind, from her heart.

It was likely she would never forget him.

And that was something she had accepted, had come to accept as each year slowly bled into another.

The distance had given her perspective.

She did not begrudge him his mission, nor his decision to leave.

They had made no promises to each other.

They had broken no vows.

But her heart had borne all it could, and she knew the only way to recover it was to let go.

_Dareth shiral ma vhenan._

She tore the necklace off with a gesture, felt her heart catch in her throat at she looked at in one last time.

And then, with the blood roaring in her ears, the thunderous cacophony of the waterfall behind her, she cast it into the water and watched it disappear into the dark.

It was time to move on.

Time to _try._

_Farewell my heart._


	3. Shadow

Dheron could hardly believe his luck.

He had found her, the Dalish with the bare face.

Since seeing her at the tavern he had followed her for the better part of two days.

Hers was a face he had vowed to never forget.

Not because he _fancied_ her, but because of what he had seen.

Or rather, what he thought he had seen. Even now he was not entirely sure what he had witnessed in the grove. It had been dark, and from his perch in the trees he had only managed to get a handful of their whispered words. But he had recognized the ancient magic that had wound its way around her, seen the promise of elven skill in the blue glow of her companion's gift.

Intoxicating.

The knowledge that someone had such magic was so tantalizing it had drove him nearly mad with want. How long had it been since he had found such a promising source of skill?

Years it had taken him, combing the land in search of her and the other elf. Of longing so fiercely for that magic, that he would have willingly sacrificed parts of himself to attain it. But no matter how many minds he had searched or memories he had forcibly picked through, they always seemed to elude his grasp.

He had all but given up, had only just begun to plan his travels out of the region when his luck had turned completely on its head.

_Fen'harel, trickster and chief amoung gods please hear me._

_Let me find the bare-faced Dalish woman and her lover._

_Let me know his secrets and wield the power that he has._

It seemed his desperate prayers to Fen'harel had not gone amiss, and he gave thanks to the wolf that he alone had answered Dheron's plea.

But while the elven woman who had walked in looked very early the same, there were some subtle differences, ones that shone all too easily in the dim light.

Somber eyes and an unhappy heart.

Touching the amulet that lay against his chest, Dheron caressed the bitter blue stone with a thumb, as the magic began to sing in his veins.

Such a seductive song, he listened to its tune as it swept over those in the tavern and took him with it.

Even with the roaring of the rain he could hear it all, the thrum of their lives beating in his ear. There was no missing the suffering of her body, the chaotic thrum of her blood in her veins, the too-tight clench of her heart in her chest that spoke of grief and loss.

Dheron frowned as he dove upwards through his magic, towards her mind, her memories.

Had she lost the man? Her lover?

If she had, then all of his time spent searching for them would have been a waste. He could feel his temper grow at the thought, his irritation flutter to life. He had wanted the man, for his power, his ability

Reaching higher, touching her temple with the very tip of his magic, he paused for a moment to get himself collected. Memories were delicate things, even when willfully given. To be taken without permission, without calm, was not only dangerous but potentially damaging.

He could not risk his work by being upset.

His passion was knowledge, his aim involved restoring the Dalish to the glory of their past. If he was to bring forth another Arlathan then he needed the fierce, the brave, the cunning.

Dheron feared no one, not even the most dangerous of gods. And so he offered prayers to Fen'Harel alone. For only he who had brought both Creators and Forgotten Ones to heel was worthy of worship.

Only _he_ could be trusted to grant Dheron's request to meet that powerful elven mage once more, to learn his secrets.

He had not been disappointed yet.

"Hello."

Smiling pleasantly when she sat down beside him, he took note of the weapons she carried, and dismissed them just as quickly.

She may have been Dalish at one point, but her decision to remove her vallaslin marked her as a traitor to her people, one who did not have pride. He doubted she could wield her weapons properly, not when she cared so little for her heritage.

Besides, his was a power wrought from years of study, of bartering with greater magics and he had no equal. Not among men, and certainly not among the withered abilities of his elven kin.

Whole clans had been sacrificed to this appetite. Those he deemed unworthy, too peaceful or shamefully un-elven were removed as well.

She would be easy enough to remove once he had taken what he needed.

And that was why he had followed her out of the tavern that night, why he had slunk through the shadows and trailed after her.

He needed to know where her lover was.

It was not the sort of secret she would share willingly, and so he set about getting ready.

Waiting.

Watching.

She entered the grove, thinking herself safe, and fell into his trap.

He watched her as she bathed, greedily absorbed the image of her form in the moonlight and wondered what it might like to use her for more than just bait.

But he needed her whole, knew her lover would never agree to a trade if she were...damaged.

He could not allow her to arm herself either.

And so the moment she was distracted, by that bit of string in her palm, he sprang into action.

She did not even have time to scream.


	4. Resonate

He had been dreaming, had been in the Fade, when it happened.

From far off in the west the sky had darkened, to churn violently like a storm on the horizon. Pieces of the fade twisting into a thunderhead of noise, the sound carried across the landscape in a great rolling wave.

Screaming, hundreds of voices screaming.

The noise echoed in every hollow, every rocky canyon and embedded itself so deeply in the land that for a terrible moment it seemed as if the Breach had opened once more, driving the spirits away with a ferocity that few could match.

Men, women, it was the sound of such agony that even the ghostly noises of battlefields paled in comparison. Generations of people in pain.

And then it was abruptly, jarringly silent.

A vacuum so empty that it felt like he had suddenly lost the very sense of hearing itself.

There was nothing but the memory of that terrible noise ringing in his mind.

Haunting.

Solas stared at the direction of where the wailing had originated. Frozen, rooted to the ground as he swallowed past the unease that grew with each moment that the ringing in his mind continued. He knew who lay in that direction, had taken great pains to avoid her as much as possible.

He had recognized _her_ voice among the masses. He knew he had.

But this storm, this screaming, was like all things in the fade. A memory of an event, something that had happened long ago.

He felt his skin prickle as a chill settled over him.

How long ago had this happened?

Days? Years?

Before he could think about what he was doing he began to move, towards the horizon, towards her.

If he could discern the location of where she had been, then maybe...

Traveling in the Fade seemed faster somehow, the land moving past more quickly. The result of his own desire to see the distance shrink, perhaps? Mountains rolled away, down into valleys, forested hills before flattening into the plains.

Closer and closer he came, and the nearer he drew, the more he could hear another noise, a humming, low and steady.

Around his neck, under the layers of clothing, the loop he still wore, the one she had gifted to him, seemed to do the same. But the resonance did not make him feel better nor assuage his concerns.

It seemed all the worse when he arrived at his destination.

He knew the space, the land.

There was no mistaking the grove, not in the Fade.

He had visited the grounds periodically over the course of his life, but it had been several years since his last visit. Still, the landscape seemed virtually the same, more like it's waking world than most because the veil was so thin.

Thin enough that spirits could cross easily between if they had the will.

Thin enough that those in possession of powerful magic could inject their abilities into the beyond.

And someone had, intentional or not, sent something through.

Scanning the terrain, the lush not-trees and pools of not-water, Solas sought out that item that even now hummed with purpose.

Sharp eyed and observant, it should not have taken him as long as it did. But when he finally saw it, the little bit of cord, his exhale was so sharp, so sudden that his lungs protested at the loss.

Blinking in rapid succession, trying to clear his vision, his lips twisted into a worried frown when the knot remained where it was on the silt strewn bank.

_What was it doing here?_

He bent down, fingers brushing what was left of the token, the unraveled mess.

_And where was she?_


	5. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE shoutout to everyone for the last chapter!
> 
> I know these chapters tend to be pretty brief - but I should be able to get these posted fairly frequently. I have up to chapter 35 written thus far!.

She was a _wonder_.

Dheron gazed at his prize, her unconscious form, and felt himself flush in pleasure.

What a surprise, a delightful break from the norm.

More than he had expected, more than he could have imagined possible, her very existence made life so much more intriguing.

And for the first time since he had seen her in the tavern he took the time to look at her, _really_ look at her. He had thought her nothing more an a bargaining chip at the beginning, but now...

His eyes skimmed the fine bones of her face, the delicate slope of her nose and modest shape of her mouth. Lower, he traced the elegant line of her throat where it disappeared into the rough tunic she wore, noting the jagged scar that marred the otherwise smooth skin.

The Dalish were a warring peoples, fierce. Her scars did not detract from her beauty so much as make her more acceptable to her captor. She might not have been a _true_ elf, but at least she could fight like one. He had the bruises and cuts to prove it.

It made sense now, why she had accompanied her companion in the grove. They were a pair, both of them steeped in ancient elven magic; she the knowledge and her companion the power.

Female and male.

Did she augment her lover's abilities?

Dheron considered the soft swell of her bosom, the delicate flare of her hips and mused at the possibilities. If she had been the other man's lover, then did their relationship somehow play into their powers? Ancient elven magic was advanced, but Dheron had known other magic to have more...primal origins.

The idea was intriguing but one he set aside in favor of the larger question.

Would she be more useful to him if he had her companion's abilities?

Like a well, could someone draw from her with the right sort of bucket?

Dheron glanced down at his amulet and frowned. He had thought it a powerful tool, but in the face of her grand reservoir it seemed a crude implement, more like a spoon than a bucket. Too rough if he was going to continue without causing permanent damage.

Still, his options were limited. Until he located her lover, his amulet was the only means to extract information from her.

The few times she had been conscious the struggle to keep her under control had been a mighty one. The last instance in particular had been a near thing, and only his use of the amulet had shifted the fight in his favor.

That was how he had made his discovery.

It had been a shock of course, almost terrifying.

But worth it. _So_ worth the spike of fear that had proceeded what had been an exquisite rush of noise, of power.

Even now he could still hear the myriad of voices that had exploded his senses when he had first tapped into her memories.

How marvelous.

 _Delicious_.

And he had only thought to take a single moment worth of memories. How overwhelming must it be to have all those voices speaking at once, invested in every second of life?

So much knowledge, so much power, how did she keep it all straight?

Oh, she was still a traitor, what true elf abandoned her markings willingly? But there was respect to be gained from utility, and Dheron could not deny that she was useful.

That _Lavellan_ was useful.

Her memories, blurred and noisy though they were, had given him that small bit of information.

Lavellan.

He knew that name, had actually lived among them during his search. They had been a clan without much ambition outside of their own survival, but had suited his purposes well enough.

It still did not explain however how he could have missed her presence if she was indeed from that clan. He had only traveled with them for a week, that was true, but even then...Dheron frowned in confusion as he scanned his memories, looking for her face.

He would have remembered her, recognized her, he _knew_ he would have.

But no sooner had he started when a small groan broke him from his reverie, and Dheron looked back to find his prisoner slowly waking for her daze. Hands pushing hair from her eyes, shackles rattling as she shifted in place, there was a single beat of silence, of confusion, and then the sound of struggling, of panic turning fluidly into anger.

He saw the moment her eyes settled on him and sharpened with recognition, with hatred so potent she burned him . If he was to keep her close, he would have to remove that particular memory first. The bindings holding her were not strong enough to withstand frequent assault, and he could not sacrifice his strength so often if he meant to extract her knowledge as well.

He needed to keep her under control. And he had experience enough to know how to best manipulate her. But her knowledge, her power, that would complicate things.

And regardless of how successful his first attempt was he would have to keep a close eye on her, at least until her had what he needed. Not that he expected to be done with her any time soon. No, if his initial estimate was correct they would be spending a lot of time together, the two of them.

He smiled at the thought, _oh yes_ , a lot of time indeed.

Crossing the room to where she continued to struggle, he lowered himself until they were eye to eye.

"Now Lavellan," he crooned as he settled his hands on either side of her head, noting how she tried to shake him off, tried to snap at his fingers like a feisty she-wolf.

"Let us take another look at those memories, shall we? I need to find out where you're hiding him."

He laughed when against his chest his amulet began to hum, began to glow until the blue sheen of magic had engulfed his hands.

The sound of her screaming was sweet music to his ears.


	6. Chapter 6

She woke up in a panic, eyes snapping open as she sat up in the dim half-light of morning.

She found herself in an unfamiliar bedroll, inside an even more unfamiliar tent that smelled of mold and disuse. Struggling to her knees, she managed to find her way out of the small space, clawing back the tent-flap to emerge half-dressed and terrified. Stumbling as she cleared the tent's shadow, she did not feel the grass beneath her feet, nor did she appreciate the silvery fog that clung to the tall trees like silken banners. All of it was lost to her, made invisible by the sense of wrong that echoed in her mind with the power of a hundred voices.

_Something was wrong, she needed to..._

Panic rose in her throat, threatened to leave her screaming without end.

Where was she?

_She had to get away, had to..._

Breathing hard, she stopped short as her mind failed her. Straining to see where she was, she scanned her lush surroundings and felt her stomach clench when she recognized nothing.

This was not where she had wanted to be.

Where was the grove? She remembered leaving Skyhold, had started her journey just two days prior, so _where_ was she?

"Oh good, you're awake. I was so worried."

The voice made her start, made her whip around and face the speaker with such speed that her head and neck ached in protest.

"I..." She pressed her hand to her temple as it began to pound, watching the newcomer warily as he approached. Taller than her, tall for an elf, he was slim of build and was clearly dalish. There was no missing his vallaslin, not when he wore it as darkly inked and bold as he did.

By all accounts his appearance should have comforted her, eased the worry. The dalish clans might have warred with one another off and on over the course of recent history, but the ongoing conflicts with humans had united rather than fractured the clans.

Still, there was something... _off_ , and the closer he got the more the hairs on the back of her neck prickled with unease.

"What happened to me? Where am I?"

Hands held wide to convey a lack of threat, the man gave her a sympathetic frown as her drew near, "I found you on the side of the road. I think you might have been beset by bandits."

"Bandits?"

His answer sounded wrong, but she could find nothing in her mind to contradict it. Thinking harder did nothing but make her head ache all the more sharply, and -

_Heart pounding, hands scraping wildly against the hard wood, she had been chained, captured. She had to get away...had to warn-_

She jerked back to reality at found the other elf staring at her in concern, "I'm sorry. You were out cold when I found you, alone. Were you traveling with anyone?"

Frowning, she tried to think, tried to _remember_ and felt something frightened bubble up the longer her mind remained so terribly blank; it felt suspiciously like helplessness.

"I...do not think so."

She had not left Skyhold with anyone, but who was to say she had not met anyone in the interim? Still, she hesitated to admit to the gaping holes in her memory, it left a vulnerability that was not acceptable when she was so far out of her element.

"Where are we?"

She looked around and saw nothing but the deep green of the trees, so unlike the mottled colors of the forests at the coast

"Just outside the Brecillian Forest, not more than a days travel."

Given that she had been headed in the opposite direction, the news was jarring, unsettling and made little sense. At her frown, her companion smiled in sympathy, "I know this must sound strange, but you have been in and out of consciousness for the past few days. I did not dare move you, especially since you kept saying you were waiting for someone."

"Waiting for someone?" She frowned, "That doesn't make any sense I-."

The pounding in her head sharpened suddenly, transforming into a stabbing pain that made her stagger.

The voices of the well seemed to spring to life in earnest, to clamor in a way unlike anything before. Louder and louder, until they were howling in her ears, nothing but a noise that felt of pain and anger and fear. And though she had grown used to the often overwhelming presence in her mind, nothing had prepared her for the violent cacophony that greeted her now.

Reaching out blindly as the world spun before her eyes, she staggered several steps forward before she was caught, held upright by her mysterious companion.

The cool press of fingertips to her temple followed a split second later, the soothing chill quieting the shouting in her head.

"Are you ok?"

She could hear the concern in his voice, felt his arms around her, constricting and holding and keeping her steady. It made her stomach twist uncomfortably, made her afraid though she was not sure why.

Opening her eyes, she stepped back as she straightened, expression suspicious as she followed the flutter of his hands as he carefully tucked them to his sides.

She knew the gesture, the talent, had seen it often enough to recognize it for what it was.

"You're a mage?" She did not see a staff, but now that she suggested it there were a variety of clues, the lack of armor on him, the easy swagger that came with knowing power was always just a gesture away.

"I was the First in my Clan..." He seemed to admit the fact uneasily, "We were attacked."

It was a story that had been all to common after the Breach, but her heart ached all the same. The People were a dying breed, and every loss was another severed tie to the past.

"I am so sorry. Were you the only survivor?"

His wounded nod was answer enough.

Lavellan was silent for a long moment, "What were you doing here then? There is not a clan around these parts for miles."

There had been, once, but the stories from the elves in these parts had dissolved amidst rumors of werewolves and vengeful spirits.

"I was looking for Clan Lavellan. I had worked with their Keeper years ago and thought I might ask them."

"Clan Lavellan?"

The coincidence made her stomach twist uncomfortably. Her companion had been nothing but kind, considerate, but her instincts continued to put her on edge. Something was not right, no matter how unassuming this elven mage was.

Looking around she scanned the forest for the Hart that she had taken from the Skyhold and saw nothing.

"I really should be going."

"Going?" He sounded nervous, apprehensive, "Are you sure you're fit to travel?"

"Fit or not, I need to go." She glanced at him for a moment before scanning the tree line again, looking for the best way out, "I have people waiting for me."

"Your clan?" He asked casually, carefully.

Hairs prickling anew, she slanted him a look and realized in that moment what was wrong. Somehow, someway he knew too much, about her and about their situation in particular.

She no longer wore the vallaslin, had not since that fateful evening years ago. Their disappearance had led to questions by those who knew her, concern. But to those who did not know her, or her heritage, the lack of markings had inevitably led to a singular conclusion.

City elf. Flat-ear.

It was impossible to mistake one for the other when the markings made the difference so clear. So how had this mage known? _How?_

She was not equipped to confront him, not truly. But the longer she stood in the clearing the more her instincts demanded she leave.

"I really must be going."

"Going?"

His expression turned in an instant, grew colder and menacing. And as his mask of civility shattered she caught a glimpse of the figure underneath. It was one she had seen before, one she recognized.

"You're him...from the grove."

His smile, a dark and dangerous thing twisted his features into a terrible smirk And as he raised his hands in a magical gesture she knew she had little hope of fleeing. Still, she had to try and the clearing exploded as she called forth the power of her mark.


	7. Remember

Solas found her wandering the Fade, staggering, as if her body had not the strength to carry her. There were no wounds upon her body, but there, beneath her skin seemed to be a thousand small cracks, a thousand small pieces poised to collapse at the slightest gust of wind.

_What had happened?_

He called to her and found her deaf to his voice, blind to his appearance.

“Lavellan?”

That she was alive had almost been too much ask, and he had spent many long evenings _awake_ wondering if she was gone. Never had her mortality come into question until he realized he might have lost her entirely.

He was still not entirely convinced that she was real.

Following the natural slope of the land, Solas drew nearer but stopped short when he caught sight of her wearied face.

And in that instant, in that moment, those memories he had kept so carefully locked away shuddered to life, breathed anew in the face of her nearness.

_Vhenan_.

Even now the word fit her perfectly

He had no business using the endearment, the truth thought it may be. Many things had changed since they had parted. But though he called to her she didn’t even pause in what she was doing, merely plodded along in silence. Her head continued to turn this way and that as if she were looking, or perhaps listening for something.

“Vhenan?”

Frowning in worry, he trailed after her for only a moment before he brushed the tips of his fingers against her shoulder, drawing back suddenly when she gave a startled cry and stumbled backwards, eyes wild as she wheeled around.

There was no recognition when at last her eyes fell on him, no sudden flash of emotion, not even the anger that he knew he deserved.

“Oh…hello.”

Her words were even more confusing. Flickering between unease, anger and fear, Solas watched her and felt as if he had stumbled upon a stranger wearing the face of a friend, of a lover.

“Are you lost too?” Wringing her hands as she tried to smile, she made no move towards him, but neither did she try to leave.

“I…” She looked around fretfully, and the expression was so unlike her that Solas hesitated to interrupt her. “I’m looking for something…or someone? He can help me, but I’ve forgotten his name.”

“You’ve forgotten it?” Solas spoke softly, half afraid that he would scare her away.

Shaking her head, she gestured around them, “I have names but they’re all jumbled up. I can’t…” Her hand came up to touch her temple with a flinch, and in that moment Solas saw the cause of her confusion, her strain.

A mark, a star-like explosion of glowing blue cracks that expanded away from the point at her temple. He recognized the coloring, the telltale humming: ancient magic, elvhen magic, the mark of an artifact crafted in his own age.

Someone had been using it to draw power, draw _something_ from her, but had not the skill to use it properly. She was fracturing from the misuse, being subjected to the whims of a careless mage.

After all the care he had taken to undo the devastation of his orb in the hands of the wrong person, the fact that yet another was making his same mistake was as infuriating as it sickened him. How dare they. Did they know nothing of who she was, what she had sacrificed for all of their lives?

There was guilt there, but more than that, there was rage.

Fury avalanched through him, a feeling so cold and pure that it very nearly burned away the thin mask of humanity that he wore to fit in. Fen'harel, the wolf, howled, and only the absence of the culprit kept the beast at bay.

He would find the mage responsible, and unlike the Inquisitor, he would show no mercy.

Only blood could pay for this sort of wound.

“Are you alright?”

The feather light touch of her hand, a mirror of his own gesture moments before, snapped him from his thoughts. Blinking rapidly to clear vision of blood and vengeance from his eyes, Solas saw her take several tentative steps forward as concern rippled through her.

“You look as if you might tear out someone’s throat.” She tried to make a joke of it, but her nervous glance at his mouth was more appropriate than she knew. Ironic that she was still as perceptive of him, continued to known him better, than even those he had lived with a millennia ago.

“Will you allow me to try and help you?”

The words were out of his mouth before he had the proper wherewithal to consider what he was doing, to wonder at the implications.

“You can?” She looked so earnest in that moment. Wide eyed and hopeful, she seemed looked every inch the young elven woman she must have been before the Breach, before time and responsibility had aged her. It was as unnerving as it was painful, made all the more sad by the realization that he had never known her like this.

How had he been so blind, when she had always shown such clear sightedness?

It seemed she would forever continue to impress him.

“Close your eyes.”

A request that reminded him too much of their time in the grove. She obeyed now as she did back then, her trust in him as implicit as it had ever been.

Would she look at him like that after he had repaired what he could? Would she willingly close her eyes when he asked, knowing she had trusted him with her heart and he had left it a mangled mess?

There was no time to consider the personal implications. He had to do what he could in the time given to them. And so he called his magic to the tips of his fingers, letting the soft blue light flare to life as he directed it to where her magical wound lay half-hidden beneath her hair.

Gently, tenderly he shifted the tendrils of silk until the cool flesh of his skin pressed against the warmth of her own. And that touch, that brush of skin against skin was as electric as it had always been, as shocking as the first.

They remained still, sharing the same heartbeat, the same slow breath for only a moment before it was done, the magic slowly fading, taking the majority of the scarring with it.

No sooner had the magic dissipated when her eyes fluttered open. Bright and clear, they opened and in that moment widened with recognition.

“Solas?”

Pale faced and stunned, she shook her head in denial as her lips worked soundlessly to form coherent words. In the end even those failed her and only the clamp of her hand over her mouth managed to stop the cry of pain, of agony that reflected so sharply in her eyes. Shaking her head, she pulled back, away, as she took several steps away from him.

“You can’t be here. It’s been _ages_.”

Hoarse, tight with emotion, her voice shook when she finally spoke, cut off completely when she was forced to take great steadying gulps of air. But it was anger, not pain that powered her through her next words.

“Creators _damn_ you.”

Short, to the point. She had never truly been one to curse, but that she did it now was not something Solas minded. Indeed, it was almost a relief. Let her rage. Anything was better, more bearable, than that wide-eyed look of innocence that showed him exactly what he had destroyed with his mistake.

“We do not have time for long explanations.” He choked back the endearment that came so readily to his lips, “Tell me where you are. What is happening?”

Her expression chilled, “I’d rather not.”

Stubborn, perhaps even foolhardy but Solas could not fault her pride when his had already done so much. Still, he hesitated. He could order her to answer and the power of the well, of Mythal, would compel her. But he had not used it on her before, and he loathed to start now when everything between them lay so broken already.

“Please.” He asked again, but did not beg, “I found you wandering the Fade injured and alone. What is going on?”

She repeated his words blankly before they seemed to sink in, and as she spoke them a second time, her melodic voice seemed to catch.

“I…I’m losing memories, I think. Or they’re getting mixed around. It’s harder to make sense of what happened and in which order.”

“How do you know if you’re losing memories?” Solas pressed, it was just as likely that they were being suppressed.

“That is what he says.” She gestured vaguely outwards to where the waking world was waiting, “I travel with an elven man who is seeking a clan in the North. ”

She swallowed hard as she looked around, “There are few gaps…in memory…before I met him, before I _meet_ him. But afterwards…things don’t make sense.”

And then, because it mattered to her, because it was _important_ she turned back to him and pinned him with that gaze. The one that struck him to the core.

“I do not _like_ him, Solas. There is something _wrong_ about him though I cannot remember what. But he is not to be trusted. ”

“Is he the reason for your missing memories?”

She looked at him with such sadness, “I don’t know.”

“Then do you know where you are?”

Her laughter was as broken as her smile, “I don’t remember that either.”

They were both silent then, a painful sort of silence that tasted of heartache and all the unsaid things that accumulated over the course of years. This was neither the time nor the place to speak about what had transpired after their battle against the Elder One. They both knew this. And yet…

“Solas-” Her courage lived and died in the span of a single breath. And he saw the agony of it play across the features of her face, the tension in her brow. “ _Never mind_.”

Her arms curved around her small figure as if she might hold herself together, hands tucking close to her body as her eyes fell away from where he continued to stand silently.

It was not much, but for a man who lived on memories, had examined each one countless times, it was enough.

She looked up when he stepped closer, attention pivoting so immediately on him it would have been flattering had her mouth not quirked into a little frown. Eyes flashing in warning, her hands rose until they pressed against his shoulder.

“Don’t.”

Neither one of them mentioned the tremor in her voice, the way her hand trembled against the warm strength of his body. Nor did they mention the look he gave her, the light in his eyes that threatened to undo them both.

“I am sorry, vhenan.”

Whispered, pulled from tortured lips, he offered all he could, all that mattered.

And in that moment the hand that had pressed so insistently against his shoulder curled into a tight fist, taking a handful of his shirt with it.

“Don’t look for me.” Her words were fierce with emotion, “I’ll find a way to fix this, on my own.”

He smiled at her ever indomitable spirit, but shook his head, ignoring her request entirely as he grazed the sharp line of her jaw with a single finger.

“Stay safe.” He said, he _ordered_ , “No matter what. I’ll find you.”

He could not have timed his words any better, for in the next moment she was gone, lost to the waking world. Only the glow of her mark, Mythal’s mark, lingered for a few heartbeats longer until that too vanished.

He had disagreed with her decision to use the Well of Sorrows those many years ago. Now it seemed it might be the only thing he could use to find her.

_Stay safe. No matter what._

It had been a foolish order, an imprecise one that could mean anything.

He only hoped it was enough.


	8. Memories

They could hear the strains of music from their place at the balcony.

A slow aching refrain followed by a carefully considered flourish, the orchestra that had been chosen by Orlais' finest was a talented group. But to Lavellan they seemed more like a machine of sound than source of true music. Rigid by Dalish standards, she had not cared for the noise when she arrived and even now, hours later, she found it only barely tolerable. It mattered not that the instruments were finely tuned or lavishly decorated, to her delicate elven ears there was nothing appealing in their melodies.

Instead she wished for the music of her youth, the deep thrumming of drums contrasting the sharp winging chords of Eurella's harp. Those had resonated in a way that these Orlesian compositions did not, touched at her heart, her _spirit_. Even now she could feel the pulse of the elven songs in the tips of her toes, the flex of her muscles. Her body remembered the dances to those melodies, responded the the memory of those celebrations with all the energy of one who was still there.

It seemed as if it had been years since she had last danced. In truth it was hardly six months since she had left her clan on that ill fated trip to investigate the Conclave.

"Is everything ok?"

The cadence of his voice, the familiar timbre drew her attention to where he drew up beside her.

Solas, dressed in the ceremonial uniform Cassandra had insisted he wear; her eyes took in the length of him with silent approval. Lithe though he was, the tailored cut of the coat highlighted the broadness of his shoulders, the lean strength of his taller form. Lingering over his handsome face, she traced the strong line of his nose, the stubborn set of his mouth. She glanced up, at his eyes, and flushed at the knowing glint she found there. Like a clumsy youth she had been caught staring.

"I am glad to know you approve." Lips quirking into a small half-smile he nodded to her own well dressed figure, "Your choice of clothing is equally complimentary."

"Is that your opinion?" She asked, trying to scrape together enough self control to banish her red cheeks completely.

"It is the truth." He shrugged, his directness as characteristic as ever, "You look lovely. And I was not the only one who noticed. Everything about it suits you."

"Oh..." In the face of his straightforward response her cheeks darkened further, "I did not realize."

"I know." His smile broadened, brought more light to his handsome face, "It is what I find so charming about you. You are utterly without artifice. It is...refreshing."

Stepping closer, his hand swept over the delicate fabric of her full skirt before tracing the finely wrought filigree that bound it to the bodice. By the standards of fashion it was not as current as Dorian or even Vivienne might have liked, but on Lavellan's figure anything more opulent would have seemed overworked. As it was, Solas seemed not to mind, nor even notice. Rather his attention was fixed on the silvery threads beneath his hands, the curve of her slender figure that swelled with delicate ripeness the further he traced upwards.

_"Solas."_

She tried to warn him about the lack of propriety, to remind him of the very public space they were occupying. She meant to say all these things, but when she opened her mouth the only thing that came forth was a traitorously husky, scandalized whisper of his name.

His reaction was as immediate as it was smug. His mouth curving into a wicked grin that flashed the sharp white of his teeth before he hid his mirth behind a more polite version of the same expression. This had happened with increasing frequency as of late, the flash of something more beneath his serene exterior. But Lavellan had yet to fully understand what it was.

"Come. Before the band stops playing, dance with me."

His offer warmed her, made her lips bloom immediately into a lovely smile that glowed even in the dim lighting of the balcony.

"I'd love to. But one thing first..."

Leaning up, rising to the tips of her toes, her small hands fit around the helmet he wore and gently lifted it up and off of his head. It was an intimate gesture, to feel the whisper of his skin against the tips of her fingers, one she savored.

"There. Now I can see your handsome face properly."

Teasing him as she set the set her trophy aside, she returned to his side in an instant, her smaller hand pressed itself into his larger, fitting so immediately, so comfortably that there was never any doubt of where she belonged. The little exhale of relief that whispered past his lips however was a surprise.

Had he thought she would reject his offer?

The thought shocked her, but she never had the chance to ask. In the next moment his hand closed over hers, and with a practiced pivot and smooth step backwards he set them in motion. And their chemistry, their movements were so easily in harmony that it was a wonder they had not danced with one another before.

It started quietly of course, first a few steps forward and back. But the longer they moved together, the longer they touched, the more they realized how perfectly suited they were. How right it was to be in the other's arms. He was always there, anticipating her movement before she did it. And no matter the complexity of what he requested, she would always find the skill to complete it.

With every step they took, each easy shift and twirl, they moved back in time. The opulence of the Winter Palace shifted, dissolved, into the natural arches of elven architecture, the golden light of the braziers fading into the silvery glow of veilfire and the moon. And there, on the very edge of her consciousness sprang the sounds of elven pan flutes and harps, perfuming the air like the crystal grace that grew heavy and full along the balustrade.

And the dance...

She looked up at him, caught sight of the half-smile on his lips and felt her heart lighten at the familiarity.

She _knew_ this dance.

As a child she had seen her parents follow such steps, had seen the graceful call and answer of their sinuous movements and wondered why she had not been allowed to join in. Age had brought with it wisdom, understanding, but never the opportunity to join in. Only those who had bonded, had found that perfect other, were allowed in that large circle that surrounded the ceremonial fire.

It was an old dance, ancient.

_Dirthera'lath_

A dance for lovers.

Smiling as she skimmed her hand up to his shoulder, he answered in kind, mirroring her actions as he swept them around the small space.

Around and around in a smooth flowing arc, they moved as a single being, single heart.

With time came heat. It was there in the whisper of skin against skin, the first tentative brush of fingertips against the small of the back, of a warm palm resting over where the heart beat steady and strong. But mostly it was there, naked, in the way eyes darkened with desire.

And as he bent down to capture her lips with his own-

"Dheron, I think I found it!"

The world tipped, fluctuated and then shattered as the words pulled him out of the vision, out of the memory. And once more Dheron returned to himself, to reality, finding himself faced with the woman from who's mind he had so deeply drank.

Nearly a week of hard traveling, of pushing steadily more north with her, and it seemed as if they had finally reached their goal. Looking up to where Lavellan was standing atop a ruin, Dheron almost smiled. It had gone well thus far, better that he could have imagined.

She had been nothing but helpful since waking those six days ago.

The explosion, her attempt to fight back had been more powerful than he could have imagined. But in the end it had gone almost entirely as he expected. He was alive and she was now bent to his will. His amulet's abilities were unparalleled, and whatever it had been done to her seemed permanent. There had been no bouts of anger, of distrust. She had accepted him without reservation, had even offered her help when he had explained his goals.

It was a small victory considering the cost of her attack.

Looking down at his amulet Dheron frowned at the hair-line crack that now ran the length of the gem, the small chip on its glassy surface. His ability to pull memories from her mind had been diminished, and whatever control he had over searching for specific thoughts had all but evaporated. It was like trying to read a book, looking for a particular section, but finding the pages had all been put out of order.

But he was patient, and her cooperation had helped. He had spent hours since their initial clash shifting through her thoughts, looking for any hints of ancient magic.

However, that green mark she wielded, had completely changed his goals. Once again he found he had miscalculated, had been too limited in his understanding. It made sense now, of course it did. But it had taken the explosion to show him the true power of those voices in her head.

They were connected, those voices and that mark.

They _had_ to be.

He had searched for the source of those voices, that power, and found the memory of a pool amidst temple ruins, a well of unsurpassable power. Even now he could feel the rush of the voices, of the knowledge crash over him like a wave. He needed that for himself.

But he knew of only one other pool that might provide such ability. And though its resting place was treacherous, guarded by traps and wards set by the ancient elves, it made all the more sense now. No matter the cost, Dheron needed to get there. If he was to lead the elven people to greatness then the secrets that resided in those watery depths belonged to him.

"Nicely done."

Reaching the raised platform where Lavellan was waiting, he patted her on the shoulder as he passed, ignoring her murmured response as his eyes settled on her discovery. It was hard to discern, between the shadows and the cunningly cut stonework it looked as if the builders had always intended this temple be difficult to find. But there was no missing the sculptured details of the door, the great bears that stood so menacingly on their hind legs.

Lavellan had been correct, she had found the temple. The truth of it did not make him feel as triumphant as it should have. She had found the entrance, the elven traitor who was so much more than he expected. For all of his knowledge, his power, she remained more finely attuned to the ancients than he ever could have imagined.

What a tricky woman she was. And yet, maybe it all made sense.

He had prayed to _Fen'harel_ hadn't he?

Perhaps the god of trickery had put Lavellan in front of him for more than one reason.

Smiling at the thought, Dheron gestured forward, and together they began the descent into the temple of Dirthamen. There were secrets just waiting to be uncovered.


	9. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: The conversation between Lavellan and the spirit character occurs within her head and as such has been left in italics. I hope this clears up any confusion.

She woke up for the eighth day in a row to find her memory intact, clear and crystal.

Dheron had rummaged through her mind, she could feel her temple throb from where he pressed his fingers the evening before, but everything was where it should have been. Every detail was as vibrant as it had been the first time she had noticed it, and the terrible jumbled mess he'd made those many weeks ago was as she remembered.

_Stay safe._

The words were a mantra, a song that whispered in the darkness long after she had closed her eyes.

_Stay. Safe._

She had remained docile, had followed through with Dheron's many requests in the name of heeding those two words. And all along she had planned her escape, her eventual flight to freedom. With every step she had taken northward, with every day spent hunting for the Temple of Dirthamen, she had schemed.

Unlike Dheron, who seemed to find this temple and land completely new, this area of Thedas was not unfamiliar to her. Her captor would regret not stealing more of her memories by the time she was done with him.

But knowing where she was had been a double edged sword, and she had been grateful for the fact that she had not seen Solas in the Fade since. He would know where to find her if she had appeared to him again, would put himself in danger for her sake. The time for that sort of relationship was long past. She could not - she _would not_ allow him to take such risk. There were others she had to consider too, lives that meant more to her than even his.

And though it had been hard to be so careful, to not dwell too long on him, seeing Solas had brought those still-intact memories unerringly to the surface.

 _Numinehn_.

She thought his name for only a moment before flinching away, willing herself to bury it amidst the hundreds of other thoughts. It was the only thing she could do to protect him, to pretend he did not exist. But it was a struggle to ignore the memory of him and his tenderness, the stubborn set of his mouth and familiar shade of his eyes. Instead she focused on her surroundings and the very real threat her captor still posed.

They had been in the ruin for several days and had yet to find anything Dheron seemed even remotely interested in. He had mentioned looking for a well, the likes of which she had found at the temple of Mythal.

Instead all they had found thus far was a single sputtering brazier of veilfire, something he had found intriguing for only an hour before he left her to press on. He had been doing that more often as of late, leaving her alone. And just as his confidence, his arrogance grew, so too did her boldness.

She had found something in the temple, a collection of runes that she knew were important, were pointing to something even more secret. She had followed them deep into the temple for the past day and if all went well she would discover the full message soon.

Gathering a small flickering lick of blue flame, Lavellan returned to the maze of tunnels and waterlogged underground that made up the majority of Dirthamen's temple. Water, chilly and smooth circled her ankles as she drew further down.

_Deeper and deeper._

With each room she passed the shadows seemed to grow ever larger, as if to conceal secrets of increasingly greater value. Lavellan could feel the veil thin with each step forward as well, as if the weight of all the things left unsaid had the power to will those very silent thoughts into being. There was no denying the feel of it, the familiar tingle, though this one bit with icy teeth made sharp with the sort of dangerous things men kept buried in their hearts.

Her silence was her strength, served as her armor against the rising tide of cold and dark. And through it all the little flicker of veilfire burned without fail, dancing across the slick grey of the temple walls until it found its mate in the glitter of ancient runes carved deep and fluid into the stony faces of the temple.

She spent hours with those runes, tracked them through the tunnels as each one pointed to another. Guided by the voices of the well, by the words she found, she followed the marks until she came before a scrawled tablet so ornate that for a moment they seemed a collection of images rather than collection of text.

The words were in ancient elven, but even then, it took every ounce of skill she had to complete the translation. Letting the voices of the well crash over her like a wave, she took a slow exhale to steady herself as they nearly overwhelmed her consciousness. Then she focused, directed and channeled their overwhelming knowledge until one by one she read the words upon the wall.

_The mirrored pathway, to the realm that lies between this and Falon'din. Carry the gift of one twin to travel the path of the other._

She spoke the words aloud, her soft voice shattering the silence as it resounded in the deep, echoing in the barrel-vaulted spaces until the hum of it could be felt in her chest as well as heard by her delicate ears.

On and on it went, lingering even when she completed the translation, growing louder and louder it seemed until the darkness was pierced by light itself, growing from the midst of the words to birth two images.

The first was the picture of a gem, a sharp angled stone, and just beneath it a more familiar shape; its surface a molten surface of gold and silver.

A mirror and the key it needed to be unlocked.

The vision faded a moment later, returning the tunnel to darkness leaving only Lavellan's mind illuminated by her discovery.

_An eluvian._

There was one in the temple. Somewhere.

She swallowed the thought knowing that Dheron would find it when he searched her mind that evening. It was unlikely he would understand the full importance of her find, she hoped he did not, but it seemed her time to act was quickly drawing to a close.

An eluvian offered a way out, a path which Dheron would be unable to follow.

She just had to find it and hope it was still intact, then she would worry about how to unlock its path away from the temple, away from Dheron. The voices of the well promised her their power, and she would find a way.

She emerged from the waterlogged tunnels nearly an hour later, mind still humming softly with the words the veilfire had revealed amidst the shadow.

But when she arrived in the central room, the hall Dheron had last been working in, she found herself confronted by the unsettling stench of death. Pungent, it cut through the otherwise clean and crisp air of the temple. And all around the altar of Dirthamen were body parts. Grey, hacked from bodies long left to decay, she looked at each of the pieces on their respective pedestals and felt her stomach turn in distaste. There were no proper rituals of any kind that required such offerings.

"Dheron?"

Fear and caution kept her voice low as she descended the final steps to where he was. Bent over something, the green glow of the object painted itself across his sharp features with a sinister brush, making the cold in her stomach congeal as she drew closer still.

"Are you-" But the moment she touched his shoulder the light bloomed brighter, pulsed once before the force of magic pushed her back several steps. Whatever he had done with his ritual was complete, and as she blinked away the too-bright light the presence of a third being, a magical being, touched her consiousness.

 _"Greetings, you who have freed me from the prison created by traitors and those who distrusted the word of Dirthamen._ _Do you desire secrets or-?"_ The spirit, the demon, purred, _"Ah, I see."_

A figure emerged from beneath the water, shadows and green light solidifying until it looked nearly the height and breadth of Dheron himself. But unlike other demons this one did not take on the features of pride or desire. Indeed it seemed almost elven with its pointed ears and lithe figure.

_"I know you child of Clan Lavellan. I have seen the path you have taken, the steps that have led you here. I know the path you wish to follow now. Would you like me to free you now?"_

It's voice, low and male, echoed in her mind, brushed against her consciousness like a cat. Slow and teasing, the deep thrum of its power echoed in the voice that promised to fulfill her deepest desire.

But Lavellan had dealt with demons before, had enough experience to know better. Swallowing down the icy cold that clutched at her throat, she ignored the temptation and responded with a question of her own.

 _"Who are you?"_ She thought rather than spoke the words, answering kind with kind. Vaguely she could see Dheron was still standing where she had last seen him, but he seemed transfixed by something else entirely.

_"I am called the Highest One, a Grand Priest to the God of Secrets Dirthamen though that time seems to have long disappeared. Tell me, do the gods yet walk this land?"_

_"If they ever did, now is not that time."_

_"Ah."_ The demon seemed to sigh in disappointment, _"So the Dread Wolf suceeded. It is good to know he is a man who keeps his word, despite the world it has wrought."_

_"What world? And Fen'harel was a beast, not a man."_

The demon chuckled, his dark laughter raising the hairs on the back of her neck, _"Such words, child. You, who never knew him, should not speak so boldly to those of us who did. Fen'harel was as much one as the other, with all the desires of any normal man. Indeed, he had all the same weaknesses too. Pride is such a common fault."_

Pausing for a moment to examine her, the High One shook his head at whatever he found there, _"It will be_ your _pride that will ruin you if you do not heed me now, child of Lavellan."_

_"I do not heed the words of demons."_

_"Then it is a good thing I am not a demon, is it not? Besides, I know what it is you want most. It is not easier to admit it? Do you not wish to return to your beloved, to Numinehn?"_

Her stomach twisted at the sound of Numinehn's name, made her angry and suspicious in equal measure.

 _"I do not know how you found that name,"_ She growled, _"But I will not be subjected to the will of a demon in order to buy my freedom."_

 _"Subject to my will? No, none of that. I ask for only one thing."_ The demon, the once-elf, crooned as he strode forward, _"Give me the token that carries my master's name. That which carries and finds secrets, the Amulet of Dirthamen."_

 _"I do not know the location of such a trinket."_ She took several steps back as she spoke, climbing the stairs out of the watery hall to stand on silver stone. The demon, High One, followed her, his incomplete form phasing through balustrade as he rose to join her.

_"It is no mere trinket, but you do know it. Your companion, Dheron, he wears it around his neck and you-"_

The realization, the words were too much, too knowing, and she could not trust herself to answer with what was the correct course of action.

 _"Leave me."_ She commanded, cutting his words short as she raising her hand to threaten use of the green mark upon her hand, _"I refuse your offer. If you want the gem around Dheron's neck, then you can take it yourself."_

The High One went silent, still for a long moment, before finally withdrawing.

_"Very well, child. I will leave now, but remember my offer. I will be here if you have use of me."_

_"You assume I will not destroy you now."_ She pressed, face stern despite her inner turmoil. The demon chuckled at this, and this time the sound was so sinister it echoed in the very bowls of the deepest tower pits.

_"Oh, young elf. I know well enough that you will not. Not when I am the only thing standing between Dheron and the secrets you continue to hold so close to your heart."_

She remained awake that night, mind racing as she remembered the oily whispers of the demon dripping it's poisoned honey into her mind with its promises of freedom. Never before had she understood the temptation of demons until that moment, not truly.

He had promised power to free her, to show her the location of the eluvian and allow her to return to her clan, to Numinehn.

All of this in exchange for the amulet Dheron wore around his neck.

She knew it was an uneven bargain, for even broken the demon had confirmed that the amulet was a token from the age of ancient elves. It would be a powerful tool if it was hers, a dangerous token if it were to ever fall into the hands of the High One.

Glancing over the fire to where Dheron was sleeping, Lavellan felt her unease deepen. He had not acted any differently after the demon had left, but neither had he mentioned the demon either. It was as if he had not seen the ghostly figure at all.

She had tried to broach the subject, but he had simply made mention of the artifact he had found, the one he had weakened with his ritual. Pressing him further had only made him irritable, and that night they had eaten in silence, Dheron stalking away into the tunnels afterwards without so much as a word of explanation.

He had returned after a time, sullen and silent. It had been unlike their previous evenings, but perhaps in this there was a blessing, for he did not search her memories either. There was no mention of their nightly ritual, and when at last he went to sleep it was without further comment.

Whatever had happened between Dheron and the High One was impossible to know for certain. But Lavellan was not content to wait for the hammer to drop. She needed to escape, and she would leave that very night.

Waiting until the fire had burned low, she used the long shadows to her advantage as she crept towards his sleeping form. Closer and closer, she eased herself around the large stone statue of Dirthamen that sheltered her companion from the drip of water, then found herself where she wanted in an instant.

Dheron looked so much less threatening as he slept, but she had learned long ago that even the most gentle in appearance were capable of such precise cruelty. She would never forgive him for what he had done, but neither did she have the heart, or the means, to end his life.

Taking his amulet would be enough.

Her hand closed around it a moment later, felt the icy pinch of the stone against her skin as it made contact. So very near to her goal, all she had to do was ease the coil of string over his head and she would be free to go. But no sooner had she begun when she was interrupted.

"Lavellan?"

Through the haze of dark, she watched as Dheron's eyes opened with a snap. There was a single beat between confusion and realization, a moment in which the world froze. And then, with only a sharp inhale to bolster her, time resumed with a jolt.

She tugged, jerked the amulet and felt the string snap from the force of her gesture. And with the amulet in hand she took off, sprinting through the temple as Dheron's howl of fury filled the evening air.


	10. Reflection

Her lungs burned from exertion, hot and short, they seared her throat as she careened down the hall. Eyes wild, she tried to make sense of the world around her as she ducked around shadows and waterfalls alike. Left, then right around the corner, she paid no mind to the tang of blood in her mouth, the pain that danced across her back.

With his amulet in her possession Dheron had lost any semblance of control, and even now she could hear the sizzle of magic behind her. He was more competent than she might have expected, but no where near the talent of the mages who had been in her company during the fledgling days of the Inquisition. Vivienne, Dorian, and Solas had all the finesse of those who were masters of their craft, Dheron had none of their grace. Rather his attacks were the sort of blunt explosions of temper that indicated great intent but little consideration.

His lack of control was her boon. And though she had sustained some injuries, they were not as bad as they could have been, nor did they hamper her enough to give up her flight to freedom. Still, she had lost track of where she had been running, had used the looping tunnels of the temple for as long as she could before necessity had forced her to the lower levels.

Breathing hard as she jumped over a downed statue, she had only just ducked around a second crumbled sculpture when a flicker of blue light in her peripheral snapped her attention away from her pursuer.

There, on the far wall the blue arced out in the flowing script she recognized. Had she enough time, the urge to properly translate the words would have been an easy enough one to follow. But the burn upon her back was reminder enough, and she drew near only to scan the words, to see if there might be something _more._

Her curiosity was rewarded. No sooner had she crouched beside the wall when in her hand the amulet flared to life, light spilling through the gaps in her fingers as it washed the room in its vibrant hue.

Then she was falling down, through a hole in the ground that had opened with such startling abruptness that she did not even have time to voice her surprise. Further and further she descended, with only the darkness and the cool whip of air on her face and clothes to let her know she was still moving. And in her mind the voices of the well sang, the sweetness of the sound comforting in the dark nothing.

Her trip below ended just as abruptly as it had began. Between one breath and the next was the presence of the ground beneath her feet, the sensation of her legs working to hold her up. But the shadows lingered, clung like spider webs to the corners of the large room in which she found herself.

It was only then, when she stood shrouded in the dark that the amulet flared to life once more, leaving her to do little more than stare in silent wonder as the light glanced off the curled filigree of magnificent arches and illuminated the solitary shape that rose from the center of the room.

Tall and imposing, held above on a dais of glittering black stone, it took a long moment for her to understand what she was looking at. At first she could do little more than blink the dark from her eyes, straining to see what even the amulet seemed hard pressed to illuminate. But then it did, and as she drew closer she found herself looking at her reflection in the shifting not-glass of an ancient mirror, an eluvian.

_The_ eluvian. It seemed she had found it after all.

Relief, _disbelief_ , bubbled up to mix with the exhaustion of the past few hours. Sighing slowly, deeply, she pressed her forehead to the chilled surface of the mirror, raised her hands so that her palms could touch its smooth surface and be eased as well.

But no sooner had she done so when the surface began to glow, and as she stepped back, the image, _her_ image, rippled and the changed. In her place stood a pair of young elven men, broad shouldered and handsome, their matching blue eyes and sharp features marked them for the twins they were.

And they were familiar these two, strangely so, as if their names might be on the tip of her tongue if she could but _remember_. Given where she was standing, in the Temple of Dirthamen, it was possible that they were Dirthamen and his brother Falon'Din. Lavellan could not claim to be a scholar of the elven pantheon, but she had raised as a proper Dalish and knew her stories.

Still, these two were not likely to be the elven gods. Not unless she had somehow met them in a previous life. She _knew_ these two, somehow.

But no sooner had she taken a half-step closer, to examine their features anew when, like before, the mirror began to glow and ripple, replacing the adult figures with images of their younger, softer selves.

It was then that her eyes filled with tears. For she did know them, recognized them, and they were most beloved. Looking at the boy on the right she examined the reserved expression, the quiet intellect behind those dreamer's eyes.

_Numinehn._

She felt her throat tighten as she moved to the other little face and recognized him too. Fierce where his brother was calm, he was a whirlwind, a tempest, the little warrior. And those blue eyes...he shared that distinct color with his father. Twins, she had thought and they were, _her_ twins.

_Era'fen_.

Twins, she had thought and she had been correct, for they were twins, but more than that, they were _her_ sons.

The memory of her eldest however must have been taken from her, stolen by Dheron, for it was only now she knew, _remembered_ him _._

But to remember her captor seemed to summon him as well, and in the mirror she watched in horror as behind them, her _sons_ , the shadows congealed into a twisting mass, sprouting fur the exact color of Dheron's dark locks. Taller and taller it rose, on hind legs to reveal sharp claws and a predator face. But it was only when it opened its eyes, revealing the blood-red color of them, that she made sense of the elongated snout, those sharp teeth, the monstrosity that could only be one being.

_Dread Wolf._

She recognized him in an instant, felt the dual sensations of fear and protectiveness roar to the forefront as he reared back, jaws opening as he began to descend on the reflections of her children.

"No!"

She did not know if this was a vision of what was to pass, or if this was the power of the amulet finally allowing her to see what was in Dheron's deepest thoughts, but she had to stop him. Desperate to save her children, Lavellan thrust her hand and the amulet, towards the mirror.

The reaction was immediate, and yet entirely confusing, for no sooner had her hand touched the mirror when the dark fur bloomed white, exploding the shadows with light until it even overwhelmed the bloody red of its eyes, clearing them until they were blue like the sky before a storm.

"I don't understand." Swallowing the emotions that still ran too close to the surface, Lavellan shook her head, clenched her trembling hands to her side as she watched the image fade. "Are they in danger? Does Dheron intend to go after them?"

"Lavellan?"

She had no recollection of when she had made the transition from one side of the eluvian to the other, but when she turned around there was no denying that she had left the temple of Dirthamen behind.

Instead she found herself in a landscape of soft grey and mist, accompanied by the one man she had tried desperately to avoid. It would have been better had he not been there, but there was nothing she could do now. Not when he stood so immediately behind her, more real than the memories she had of him, more vibrant and _alive_ than she dared remember.

"Hello, Solas."

It hurt, to swallow, to speak. The restraint was a near thing, nearly abandoned under the heavy burden of all the questions he had never answered, the pieces of a shattered heart she had never been able to fully piece together. But she did not dare show the weakness she felt so acutely, not again, _never_ again.

"You remember." He did not hide the relief in his voice, the almost imperceptible hint of a smile on his lips. "And you are free."

The expression on his face made her heart twinge, but she masked the pang with a noncommittal grunt, glancing around this space that reminded her of the ancient elven crossroads she had visited with Morrigan those many years ago.

"Do any of these paths lead to Wycome?" She asked quietly. There were questions she wished to ask him, but now was not the time and it was likely it would ever be the _right_ time. So she focused on the task at hand, reminded herself of the sons she had waiting for her.

"To Wycome?" He seemed surprised by her request, but answered her readily, "No. I am sorry, they do not. Nowhere close even."

"I see." She tried but could not quite hide the disappointment. Eyes closing for a brief moment, as if to gather what strength she could from the solitude, she took a slow breath before coming to the only decision only she could.

"Please excuse me."

She turned, headed back to the mirror from whence she had just come, back to the temple and back to _Dheron._ If she could not ferry her children out of danger's path then she had to stop it where she new it currently lay in wait.

"Why?" He strode forward, took the position between her and the mirror, knowing there was nothing but trouble waiting for her there, "Why return there?"

"You lost the right to ask that question a long time ago, Solas." She said gently.

"Perhaps I have." He agreed, "But you will be unable to open the way back without me. It requires more power than you have on your own."

He could not know she had the amulet, so she kept her secret a while longer as she studied his fair featured, the concern that had knotted his brow.

His tone grew steelier, steadier with this admission, "Why go back? Why put yourself in danger once more, what _reason_ could be worth such a cost?"

She smiled thinly, a mockery of what once had been a full and beautiful gesture reserved solely for him.

"What does it matter? Do you not have your own mission to carry out?" She shrugged, avoided his question once more, "I will not answer just because you wish it."

"Lavellan-" He took a step closer, brows raised in concern, "This makes no sense."

"You _chose_ this path, Solas, for the both of us. I did not begrudge your decision though I did not understand it." Her eyes flashed in anger, "You would do well to grant me the same courtesy."

"You are putting yourself needlessly in danger by going back there. For what reason would you do this?"

"The reasons are my own, just as the responsibility to take action is meant for me alone." Stubborn, brave, she looked him in the eye and stood up to him, every inch the leader of the Inquisition.

"You know I cannot let you do this, vhenan."

The word, _that_ word of endearment made her blanch so quickly she nearly felt faint. And though she could see Solas regretted using it, the damage was done.

"Of all the things you are forbidden to call me, that is the most serious of them." The words came out of her mouth as a stricken whisper, "Do _not_ call me that, again. It is too cruel, even for you."

"I..." Solas swallowed, turned from her in regret, "I am sorry."

"Then let me go and leave me be." Turning back to where the mirror stood, she had not yet taken a step when she felt his hand brush the top of her shoulder, just above where she knew the skin was burned.

"You are injured." He pointed out quietly, "If you insist on going back into danger then at least let me heal the worst of it. It is...the least I can do."

It hurt still, her injury, but with so many other concerns, it was a low priority, low enough that she could not be bothered even now. It helped that the taste of blood had long since washed from her mouth.

"It is not so bad that I cannot fight." She knew her limits, was veteran enough to gage her body and the trial ahead, "Besides I do not have time for healing, nor the means to carry additional flasks."

"Then take this before you go," He handed her a bottle, one she recognized from their travels; elfroot. The simple flask brought with it memories, too many to be considered now of all times.

"I - " She swallowed in the face of his quiet compassion, his innate practicality, "Very well. But it cannot be more than this, _no_ healing spells."

He remained silent, merely watched as she removed the stopper and downed the contents in a single gulp. It did not taste as it should have, and her eyes snapped opened the moment her brain made sense of what her tongue had tasted.

"Solas, what have you done?!"

She threw the flask to the ground, made for the eluvian immediately, but it was already too late for she had downed the potion completely. The heaviness in her limbs was already beginning, the seductive call of sleep and solitude an impossible song to ignore.

"Wha-" She turned on him then, her expression furious as her weakening legs gave way, leaving her to collapse into his embrace.

"How could you?!" Disbelief colored her vice as she grew increasingly more frantic, hating the way her body betrayed the weariness she had held at bay for so long.

"I am sorry, Lavellan."

Eyes clouded in sorrow, he looked down at her, cradled her head against his shoulder as he held her close. It was made all the worse by the soft glow of magic and the cooling touch of his hand upon her burned back. Healing her, disregarding her requests, following his own agenda. It was as if the years had rolled back and she was watching him leave her all over again.

"Why?!" She growled, snapped at him like a little she-wolf, sounding so much like her usual self it almost made him smile. Still, she fought the pull of sleep with every shred of stubbornness she possessed. She _would not_ yield. Not now. Not to this.

But she _was_ losing, her _body_ was losing. Like holding back the tide, it was as impossible as taking the moon from the sky. But still she struggled, still she refused.

"Why? _Answer me, Solas_." She felt tears gather in the corner of her eyes, frustration and anger and _hurt_ making them spill down her cheeks though that too shamed her.

"It is, I am..." He paused as he gathered his thoughts, looked to the eluvian and then back at her, "I am not as strong as I thought. And losing you," He shook his head, sighed, "It does not matter now. It is done and I am not sorry for it."

He tried to smile, but the look in his eyes told her he knew the cost of what he had done to her, what this final betrayal had broken irrevocably. Brushing the tears from her face he pressed on soft kiss to her forehead before pulling away, his eyes lingering until hers fluttered shut.

"When you wake up, this will all be over," he promised.

And though the words were meant to be comforting, she felt only the ache of a wound re-opened and the knowledge that even now he did not trust her with the truth.


	11. Cost

Solas sat in silence for a long while after Lavellan had succumb to his sleeping draught. His deception might not have been the most elegant solution, but it was effective and harder to counter than a spell might have been. Neither of which would make _her_ any happier when she awoke.

In truth, Lavellan's decision to turn back to the eluvian had panicked him. It made no sense, _of course it did not,_ but having seen her brought so low after all of her victories against Corypheus had twisted something inside him. Something he had tried to ignore without success.

_Vhenan._

She still owned his heart completely. Whether she wanted it or not, he was helpless to remove her hold on him. But that did not give him the right to do what he had just done, and he knew that he had shattered whatever small margin of trust that had remained between them.

They had not parted in anger the last time, it seemed impossible to imagine she would not be upset now. Still, if he had his way, she would be free of whatever lurked behind that mirror.

The knowledge that she was safe once more would be worthy of such a cost.

He exhaled roughly at the thought, the ache deepening as he glanced down at the woman who slept soundly against his chest. Peaceful, he would have gladly spent an age simply watching her chest rise and fall with breath, feeling the warmth of her against him.

But it was not to be had, for even now he remembered the intensity of her expression, the fervor with which she tried to return to the eluvian.

_What had she seen that had made her so adamant?_

Quiet, contemplative, his serene features masked a roiling mind and an even more volatile temper. If she had but answered his questions he could have helped her. But she had refused his help, had dismissed him as easily as a child. _That_ had stung, though he could find no fault in her logic. It seemed he would forever be both impressed and frustrated by this woman, torn between respecting her decision and ignoring her wishes to protect her.

He should have allowed her to return through the mirror, should have simply ignored her request and followed her to confront whatever was waiting.

Age was supposed to bring wisdom. The experience was meant to temper hot-headed decisions and rash action. But it seemed these insights did nothing to quiet the anger that continued to simmer just below the surface. Since he had first found her token in the Fade it had only grown more potent.

Still, he was not a man easily lent to viciousness and the last time he had done so had been...

_Blood and screaming, the loss of control, of conscious thought replaced by the instinctual drive to kill and maim and hurt those that had wounded him._

_His best friend was dead, murdered, and there was no longer a leash to hold him, no means to temper the vicious instincts of the beast_.

Solas stared down at his Lavellan with sightless eyes, lost in the memory.

 _Blood soaked but victorious, his howling laughter filled the vaulted ceilings of the temple as bodies lay where they had fallen. They who were guilty of such heinous acts had chosen to blame_ him _, and he had answered their mockery with his own brand of justice._

_'Fen'Harel?'_

_Upon the steps of the temple he met one of the few left who might yet be reasoned with. Dressed in the deep blue robes of his caste, the other man bowed respectfully as he approached._

_'Hello, priest.' Fen'harel grinned, propping his hands on his hips, as he eyed the man 'Have you come to kill me too?'_

_He bore the wounds of many betrayals and expected many more before he was done._

_'No,' the priest shook his head 'I came to offer you a means to control that beast.'_

_'Control it?' He had laughed, sneered, 'Why would I want to control it?'_

_'You are not as cold as you seem, Dread Wolf, my master has told me to remind you that you need not be the animal they insist you are.'_

_The truth of the words, the hurt, made him pause._

_'Dirthamen sent you.'_

_The priest smiled, shrugged, 'He knew you would need support, a reminder that you are not as alone as you might believe. And he wanted to provide what help he could. He...suspected this might happen.'_

_Suspected and done nothing. Fen'harel bit back his anger, knowing it was Dirthamen's way to stay removed from the goings on of the People._

_'You mean to offer me one of your many secrets then.'_

_'Of a kind.' The man brushed his fingers along the surface of his amulet, and the deep color of it flashed once before beginning to glow._

_Fen'harel stared at it for a long moment before meeting the man's steady gaze with his own sharp one._

_'What did you have in mind?'_

Solas' fingers caught in the tangled threads of the knot in his pocket. And like a net it pulled him from the stormy sea of thought, of memory. Looking down at the silken tethers of what had once been a Lover's Knot he contemplated the meaning he found there before pocketing it once more.

_It was time._

Regardless of his reservation, he needed to act.

Slowly, gently, he eased Lavellan's sleeping form from his shoulder, pillowing her head with the folded edge of his spare cloak. Watching as she settled, he allowed himself a small gesture of affection, brushing the silken strands of her hair behind her ear, before he turned to leave.

It was then that he finally noticed it. A glint of pale light on the cracked surface of the gem, he bent down to examine the stone locked in her grasp and felt the shock to his system as if it were a physical thing.

The Amulet of Dirthamen. It was the same amulet the priest had used to help him those many centuries ago.

He recognized it immediately, but there was no making sense of its appearance there in her hand. Not now.

How could it have found its way to him?

He did not believe in fate, refused to believe that coincidence had brought this particular gem into his possession. But...he looked down at Lavellan and felt his heart ache as the pieces fell unerringly into place.

_You are Mythal's creature now. Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her. You have given up a part of yourself._

He had said those words to her after the Well of Sorrows, to warn her, but never had it dawned on him that this would be how it would manifest. Compelled by powers outside her comprehending, her every action had brought her a step closer to him once more, brought the amulet within his reach.

_I am sorry._

And because he was taking her amulet, he drew the cord from around his neck. But it was not the wolf-bone that he gave, rather it was the token she had given him those many years ago, the partner to her own tangled knot. Drawn from beneath his tunic, it shone of silver thread and careful work, as perfect now as it had been when she had first gifted it to him. Tucking it into her hand, he curled her fingers around the token, and set that hand upon her breast, close to her heart.

_Forgive me._

He pressed his lips to her fist before stepping back, taking Dirthamen's amulet with him to stand before the eluvian. His decision had been made for him, his guilt the catalyst to propel him forward.

And as he looked down the glassy surface of the stone, noting his pale reflection and the expression on his face, he realized that once more Lavellan had provided the means for his continued journey. First she had stopped Corypheus, and now this. The thought brought him no peace and despite the amulet's power he felt no glow of victory, no relief.

Still, he knew the path he had to walk. And so he swallowed past the tightness in his throat to begin the first of the incantations as the priest had taught. Despite the years , the words came to his lips with as much fluidity as the first time he had spoken them.

And as he spoke he remembered how at the behest of Dirthamen's priest he had locked away his bloodlust, the worst of his temper and the animal instincts that thrived on conflict. He had handed over the very thing that was his namesake.

_Dread Wolf._

Knowledge was power, and this power had been too dangerous to be anything less than a secret, kept safe by the greatest of secret-keepers. Now he needed that power returned.

He finished the incantation in a rush of sound that twisted into a growl and filled the misty abyss with a rumble. And with the final syllable came a flash of blue, the faint sensation of a key sliding into a lock and turning.

About to unlock and unleash a monster. He cast one last, lingering gaze at the woman who slept peacefully upon the ground, his token in her hand. And then he was through the mirror, standing in the dark of the temple just as the key finished turning and the lock slid smoothly open.

The power exploded in the hall, fire and rage as above it loomed the enormous red eyes of the beast, all of it expanded for a single second and then contracted, spiraling downward into the mage that had once housed it's endless rage, unfurling a magic so resonant that the very temple around him trembled with it.

Freed from centuries of confinement, the Dread Wolf _howled_ and whatever reservations Solas had disappeared amidst a haze of blood and the overwhelming, undeniable instinct of a predator.


	12. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finish this story on FF.net and realized I had never updated it here! I'll go ahead and add them all here - expect to see regular update here for a while as I play catch-up!
> 
> Much love,  
> ~Voi

She dreamt as she slept, about Halamshiral and the dance they had shared, about the night that had followed. It had seemed like a dream back then, so beautiful it had seemed unreal; as she relived the moment it remained that way.

Soft and gauzy, her bedroom was awash in the silver glow of the moon, scented by fat candles and the exotic perfumes that lay upon the windowsill in glittering crystal decanters. Furnished with all sorts of luxuries, silk bedding and the opulent damask of far-off places, the light caught on the intricate whorls of wood, the fine detailing of Orlesian lace and glinted like veilfire across the painting that covered the largest of the room's paneled screens.

But for the two figures who lay entwined upon the thick furs of the floor, the smooth texture of their not-bed was luxury enough, and the warmer woodier scent of the roaring winter hearth was a more preferable fragrance than any bottle of oil.

_"Solas."_

Cheeks flushed, lips tender from hours spent in ardent exploration, Lavellan sighed in contentment as the last little shocks left her body warm, replete, loved. Eyes closed beneath her tangled sweat-soaked hair, she smiled when she felt his warm hand settled at her waist, masculine fingers splaying wide as he pressed tender kisses along the elegant curve of her spine, from her lower back to where he lingered at the nape of her neck.

Slow, luxuriating in the texture of her skin and the tang of salt against his tongue, he took his time answering her.

"Yes, vhenan?"

She heard the amusement in his voice, felt it in the warm teasing whisper of his breath against her ear. Opening her eyes, she glanced at him shyly as his arm wrapped around her, drew her closer, until she could feel the strong planes of his chest against her back.

"You liked that, didn't you?" She sounded slightly scandalized, but couldn't help the shiver of pleasure that the memory conjured so easily. What they had done had been...she flushed, he was a _very capable_ lover.

"Hmm?" He grinned, roguish twist of his lips making him all the more handsome as he leaned forward, "Indeed. There was quite a bit to like."

His fingers brushed the tip of her ear, smoothed the edge, "Did you?"

"Oh yes." She shifted, turned so that she could face him. "You know, for as long as this lasts, I want you know that I am _happy_."

"'As long as this last'?" The words were repeated back to her with a frown.

"Now who is being grim and fatalistic?" He chided, tracing her bottom lip with a finger, eyes flickering towards the serious for a moment as he studied her face.

"Well, seeing as how I got you into my bed, it only seemed fair that I share some of your burden."

"Indeed?" Eyebrows raised, Solas gave her a look, "Because I was rather under the impression that we were on a rug...unless this is the Dalish equivalent of a bed?"

She laughed then, swatted his shoulder as she rolled to her knees. "You are lucky you are so attractive or I would be _offended_."

"Is this the part where you tell me you only like me for my body and not my mind?" His lazy smile was followed by a look of mock outrage made her laugh again.

"I have a very high opinion of your body." She admitted with a grin, "But given what we've been up to for the past several hours...those were the product of your _mind_ as much as body. So I think my esteem of your mind is higher still."

"Minx." He said affectionately, "Come here."

"Where? Down there on the _bed_?" She raised on brow, gestured to the rug.

"No...down here." Pulling her down, he laughed when she squealed, lush little body fitting against him perfectly. His laughter was something she knew she would remember until the end of her days. Warm and golden, it had been like sitting before the hearth fire and feeling its glow upon her face.

She allowed him to tuck her back at his side, savoring the masculine scent of him and the way the lean muscles of his body complimented her smaller, softer figure. It was comfortable being with him this way, as natural as breathing.

"Will it always be like this?" she asked many moments later as she nuzzled his shoulder, sleepy and lulled by the heat of the fire, by the warmth of his body beside her.

"Between us?" He turned to look at her, eyes soft, lips curved into a tender smile that even now was still just the smallest bit sad, "Yes, vhenan."

She paused, considered his words and felt her heart twist as she imagined the world outside their room. " Solas, what if tomorrow-"

He stopped her with a kiss, a slow, melting, meeting of mouths, of slow exploration rather than heated sating of desire. It was a promise and a declaration all at once.

"For me," he vowed, "It will be like this, _always_."

The dream changed then, twisted into a grey land slicked with rain and hurt and heartache. She knew the feeling, recognized this particular brand of loss by the way her lungs struggled to draw breath, as if someone was trying to smother her with a pillow upon her lips.

A week since he had left and she could still make no sense of it.

_For me, it will be like this always._

The memory of his words burned her now, wounded more deeply than any blade had cut, chilled her worse than any ice spell. No number of blankets could warm her, no fire burned bright enough to melt away the edge of frost that had claimed a portion of her heart.

But if there was a means to save what was left of it then she had only look at far as her belly. Brushing the soft fabric of her tunic over the small but telltale bump, she paused in her thoughts to consider her situation once more.

A _child._

The knowledge had surprised her, thrilled her though she knew it was a complication to her role as Inquisitor. Not that she would be alone in caring for the child, nearly every member of the Inquisition had gone out of their way to support her. But if she was being honest, the shock of her discovery had only made _his_ loss all the more sharp.

They had never discussed children, with the threat of Corypheus there seemed little point in indulging in more than what small happiness they had found. She had _dreamed_ about such things of course, had allowed herself the sort of silly flights of fancy when she was alone and all was quiet.

But now...

"Waking, waiting, wanting the bed beside you warm with his body. His arm around your waist like it was, golden in the firelight. Together, but now you are alone."

The familiar voice, cadence of his words, identified him even before she turned to look. Their time together had made his uncomfortably personal commentary less shocking, but in this case, did nothing to lessen the pain.

"Hello, Cole."

She spotted him at her desk, watching her with that curiously vacant look that told her he was looking more deeply into her than she might have liked.

"You stand by yourself, there is only you and yet...his heart, _your_ heart grows something precious in your belly and it hurts but it is not all a bad hurt."

Cole's eyes cleared but his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked around the room, "You are alone but _not_. There is...more of you?"

It was then that she understood what he was getting at. Smiling wanly, Lavellan pressed her open hand to her middle, "A baby. I am pregnant."

 _"Oh_."

He breathed the word with reverence, and then his face was alight, eyes bright, lips cracking into a wide smile as he jumped nimbly from the desk to crouch down and stare upon her bump, "You are happy, in love already though you do not know them."

"Them?" Lavellan jerked straight, both hands flying to frame her belly, "There is _more_ than one?"

"Two lights, glinting, glowing, like the fireflies in the garden." Cole's pale hands fluttered in the dim of her room as if to illustrate his point, "They were once one but now they are two. Bright enough to make the darkness hesitate."

"Twins?" She inhaled sharply, felt the tears threaten more strongly now than they had in the past few days, felt her lips tremble even as she tried to steady her quaking heart.

"Don't cry." Straightening as he spoke, Cole's hands settled on her shoulders and gently squeezed, "They will love you, too. You will not have to be alone again."

His wide-eyed innocence, the purity and sweetness of him made her melancholy dissolve in that moment.

"Oh, Cole." Touched beyond words she looked at him with a hint of a smile, "Thank you."

The dream changed again, blurring days and months, the long lonely days and the quieter moments of acceptance, of slow-building joy that accompanied the growth of her children.

And then pain, agony, _so much blood_ , and the sound of her screams as she brought her children, her sons, into the world.

Era'fen, her eldest, came into the world with a howl befitting his name. A son of strength, she had gazed upon him and named him for the token his father had worn, the wolf that even now lingered in her dreams.

But it was her second son, that had been born on a whimper, had very nearly faded before he could burn bright.

Numinehn, it meant tears of joy. She had named him when at last he was in her arms, small and squalling and _whole_ , as the tears had run down her cheeks. He was her little miracle.

Now, many weeks later she found herself kept up by the thoughts she had hoped would leave her be. Ignoring them as best as possible, she focused instead on the almost imperceptible inhale and exhale of the twins while they slept.

She brushed their little heads with the tips of her fingers, charmed once more by the tawny, almost-red color of their not-bald heads. _Lights,_ Cole had called them, it certainly seemed as if they had firelight for hair.

But firelight reminded her of _that night_ , and before she could control it, her thoughts turned to _him_ once more.

 _He should have been there, should have held his sons and named them_ _himself._

Tears and bouts of strong emotion had come more easily in her pregnancy, it seemed that even now the threat of them loomed forebodingly on the horizon. But she could not cry now, could not afford to. There were two small lives that needed careful tending, needed strength.

"Hello, darling." Dorian appeared in her doorway, dressed for bed in his long sleeping robe, "Lost in less than pleasant thoughts, are you?"

Her wounded eyes found his in the dim light and answered well enough, drawing him forward until one large hand was out and gently clasping her shoulder in support.

"Come along, Lav", His dark eyes watching her knowingly. "It is well past _your_ bedtime. Time for you to get your beauty sleep."

"I'm just waiting for Cole, he watches the boys at night, says he _has_ to because he doesn't have to sleep and the rest of us do."

"Cole is off spending time with the rabbits in the forest tonight."

Had she not recently told the young spirit that particular story about life with her clan, she doubted he would have been so captivated.

"You sneaky man. You used the rabbits to get your way, didn't you?" She sighed as she slowly eased herself down to the edge of her bed.

"Indeed." There was a flicker of a smile on his face, "It _is_ Uncle Dorian's turn after all. I just couldn't resist their little faces, so here I am."

She watched for any sign of dishonesty but saw only good humored truth.

"Come on, Lav. Give yourself some time to rest. You're looking worn around the edges, and that is not something I like to see in a best friend."

"If they wake-"

"I'll be the first one to wake you, _believe me_." He made a face, "I do not _do_ crying, children or adults. Can you imagine what those tears would do to my cloak? And the _noise..."_

He shuddered, "You will be _informed_ , I promise. Besides, you are not meant to do this alone."

His words hit too close to home, brushed against the fissure in her heart that she had kept closed with only the finest threads of control.

"I-"

She took one short, sharp breath, and felt the emotion catch as her strength failed her completely. Hurt boomed, and the room swam as her eyes filled with tears.

Standing suddenly, she did her best to contain her sudden emotion as she turned quickly away and strode to the window. Focusing on the stained glass, she forced air into her lungs with the single minded focus of one on the precipice of drowning.

But when Dorian's arms, warm and supportive drew around her, she knew her cause was lost.

"Forgive me, darling," he turned her until she could look him in the eye, "That was insensitive."

Months of struggling, to be resilient and strong, shuddered in the face of his compassion. Breathing roughly, she blinked fiercely as she tried to contain the traitorous tears that continued to fall.

"I -" She exhaled once, twice, before taking a jagged inhale, "It's _ok_."

"No it's not." Dorian's eyes filled with sorrow, with understanding, "But you're doing an admirable job and we are behind you every step of the way."

And that was when she lost all sense of control, of decorum, as the strength of her body fled and she was left to clutch at his shoulders as the terrible agony of loss bent her till breaking. Stifling the sound of her sobbing with a hand, she doubled over as if she might cut the feeling off in the pit of her stomach, might prevent the agony from reaching her heart.

But it was too much, it was _all_ too much to do alone and she wept until Dorian took her huddled form to the couch and held her close.

"Oh Dorian, I miss him so much."

Face buried against his shoulder, she trembled as she took deep gulps of air, struggled to contain the emotions that were quickly threatening to overcome her once more.

"I know dearest." He rubbed small circles on her narrow back, comforting as spoke, "And I think that if he could have been here then he certainly would have. A man like your Solas would not have left unless there was any other way."

"I know." She said the words and for the first time realized she meant it, understood it.

 _I know_.

But that didn't meant she would forgive, nor forget. And if ever the father of her children came back into her life then it would be a long road back indeed. She would never prevent him from seeing the little lives he had helped create, but she would sooner cut out her own heart then let him treat their children the way he had treated her.

Without explanation, without consideration.

She swallowed hard as she felt Dorian tug the end of her braid, felt her heart quake in her chest as the small smile of encouragement he gave her.

But she could not forget _his_ words, for they had been true for her as well. Even when she met him again, recognized him in the Fade caught between confusion and memory, it had been _the truth_.

 _For me_ _it will be like this, always._

She woke with tears in her eyes, and his token, his _heart_ , in her hand.


	13. Truth

Dheron had been in the middle of an angry tirade when the double doors to the hall opened. Under the circumstances it should have blown open with the force of a hurricane, sending the weathered iron crashing into all manner of ancient statuary. But instead it swung very smoothly open, revealing a plainly dressed apostate and his staff.

"Oh, hello." The man, an older elven man, appeared at the top of the platform as he peered down into the shadowy below, "Have I interrupted something? My apologies."

He seemed ordinary enough, but standing there, wreathed in shadow and the blue of veilfire, he seemed almost like an emperor, standing upon his holy dais as he surveyed his kingdom. There was an unmistakable straightness to his posture, a noble carriage to his being.

Dheron recognized him the moment the he had spoken, had noted the bald head and pale skin and _knew_ him. But when at last their eyes met, there was a momentary hesitation at what he found there, a difference he had not expected.

Were they not supposed to be blue? Clear and bright, the memories he had taken from Lavellan had shown as much. Instead, he found them dark, black as the void, and unsettlingly cold.

Perhaps it was the shadows of the temple, playing tricks with the light, but there was only one way to know for sure.

"You?!"

Rising from his kneeling position, he crossed the room quickly, eagerly, to approach the man he had pursued for three years. And in that moment it did not matter that Lavellan was no where to be found, that her lover was inexplicably here in the temple. All that mattered was that once more his devotion had been answered, and he was on the cusp of achieving the goal he had chased for so long. That little detail about his eyes seemed so _very unimportant_ when he was finally face-to-face with the man in question.

"It is you! Dread Wolf be praised, my prayers have been answered!"

His words might have offended some, the more cautious of the Dalish certainly, but given this man's distinctly unmarked face it seemed reasonable he wouldn't care. After all, any elf who removed their vallaslin was hardly committing themselves to Dalish ideals. And if he were a flat-ear, then it was doubtful he knew enough about the elven pantheon to be insulted either.

Like Lavellan, her lover was a traitor to his people. But what did it matter when there was ancient magic to be had, to be mastered by one of the _true_ People?

"You have been looking for me?" The question was asked with the sort of even-toned confidence of one who already knew the answer and was not impressed.

"Yes." Dheron wouldn't apologize for his actions, but neither could he risk angering the man. If he was to get what he wanted then he needed to be cautious, had to be careful. He was painfully aware of the disadvantage he faced with the loss of his amulet.

"That is why you bothered _her_."

There was no need to ask who the woman in question was, there was only one who the other elf could mean. But how this other elf knew what had happened between Dheron and Lavellan was as much a mystery as his uncommon magic.

"Yes. I thought you might come looking for Lavellan." When his response was met with a slight frown, Dheron struggled on, "I didn't harm her. I was just trying to find you really."

There was something unsettling in the way the other man stood, the way he moved now as he took several towards a low pile of rubble. It was like watching a predator, all slow movement and easy strides.

Dheron cleared his throat, pushed back against the fear that was slowly sowing ice in his belly, "Lavellan would not even tell me your name or-"

"Solas." He spoke the word, the name as he settled down on the broken statuary.

Dheron jerked, blinked, "I'm sorry?"

"My name is Solas. I am here, now. If you are willing to answer some of my questions then I would be happy to answer any you may have."

"I-" It was more than he could have hoped for, more than he _dared._ "That would be wonderful."

"Very well then. Shall we begin?" Solas folded his hands in his lap, staff propped up beside him, "What is your name."

"Dheron Ehnuven."

"Clan Ehnuven is an old one indeed." The older elf nodded, "Tell me, does your keeper know you are here? As the First it seems unusual that he would allow you to leave given the recent trouble with the Breach."

"Keeper Uhren gave me the Amulet and said I must-" Dheron broke off, suddenly wary, "I would not discuss clan business with a stranger."

_A traitor. One who is not of the People._

The judgmental sneer was left unsaid, but Dheron could not quite wipe the expression from his face.

Solas' lips pressed into a thin smile, "If you desire the knowledge I have, the secrets I keep, then you will share news of your clan."

Dheron considered the offer, licked his lips as he weighed the benefits.

"He said I had to use the amulet and find someone to unlock what was within. That it would bring power back to us, the People. A guardian to herald a new age."

"A herald..." The word seemed to make Solas smile, but it was an ironic sort of expression, as if it pained him to hear it as much as say it, "And that was why you sought me out?"

"Yes- to meet you! Because you have a magic the Dalish have not seen for generations." Dheron's eagerness drove him forward, animated his arms so that they gestured wildly, "You removed Lavellan's vallaslin. I saw you in the grove with her several years ago. It was ancient magic you used, it _had_ to be."

And then, because he had not truly asked a question, Dheron said, "Was it? The spell you wove, was I right?"

"Indeed." Solas nodded, "I imagine it is the oldest you have seen. A simple spell, but yes, its root are ancient."

"Would you teach it to me?"

"Perhaps," Solas shrugged, "But such knowledge is worth a great deal. You would need to answer more questions."

"Very well." Blinded by ambition, by greed, Dheron agreed in an instant, never sensing the dark chuckle that rippled in the deep.

"Good." The rich timber of the other's voice was warm with approval, and Dheron basked in it.

"Now then. Why did you take Lavellan with you? Why capture her?"

This question was sharper than the others, edged in a temper that put the younger elf on edge. Uneasy, Dheron glanced around the room for a moment as he sought to buy time. The truth was an ugly thing, something that only other Dalish would understand. Since he was trying to avoid such a confrontation, Dheron struggled to find another answer.

"I-I answered that question already," Protesting weakly, Dheron flinched beneath his would-be mentor's steady gaze.

"No, my first question was about why you _bothered_ her. I am now asking why you _took_ her, as if she were some sort of prize." Despite the probing nature of the question, the tone of the question was moderate, lacking the temper Dheron might have expected.

"I..." He could feel his panic rise, as the truth threatened to bubble up.

"Why was it that you used the power of the amulet to manipulate her?"

"Well you see..." Struggling to craft a coherent, acceptable answer, Dheron floundered.

"And why, was it that you never even bothered to ask her for help. To see if she might be willing to aid you?"

It was that question that proved a step too far, for no sooner had it been asked when Dheron's anxiety congealed into truth, into _hatred_ and it came spewing from his mouth in a torrent of bitterness and disgust.

"I did it because she is a _traitor_ to the Dalish! Not one of the People, not now and never again!" Furious, the words spilled out without any hope of stopping, hemorrhaging until all of it was bled from him, "She lost the right to consideration, to being treated an equal, when she agreed to have her vallaslin removed. No matter the reason, she abandoned her heritage, and that _could not_ be forgiven!"

The words rocked the quiet of temple, cast the silence in such sharp contract to the sudden burst of noise that the words rang in the vastness of a long while afterwards.

" _That_ is why you took her?"

The question was posed as mildly as the others had been. But for the second time Dheron felt a twinge of unease as he stared at that inscrutable face, those eyes that were too-dark and dead to belong to a living being.

Swallowing hard, Dheron shook his head, but refused to apologize. Pride refused to let him bend now.

"She is not of the Dalish." He asserted, "Not any more."

Speaking carefully, precisely, Solas stared back at the young man and seemed to lean in ever so slightly as he did so, "Tell me, did you hear anything of the Herald of Andraste?"

Dheron frowned, face still flushed from his outburst, "There were murmurs of an elven woman who closed the breach."

"And would you say she was a traitor?"

"She is the figurehead for a _shemlen_ religion. Of course she would be." Dheron fumed anew at the thought, "The Dalish are trying to preserve what has not yet been lost. Every one of them, those that abandon our ways, they are worse than the shems who attack us."

"And would you consider me a traitor to the Dalish?"

"I-" Dheron swallowed, "You don't have vallaslin."

"That is true," Solas nodded, "But I have never worn them either."

"Then you grew up in the human cities?"

Neither thought sat well with him, with Dheron, so it was a small measure of relief when again the older man shook his head.

"No, I did not grow up in human cities either.

"But you learned ancient magic. Surely you learned from another Dalish Keeper, or perhaps found a well like the one that gave Lavellan her abilities."

"The Well?" Solas paused, "Oh I see. No, it was through no power of a well either."

"Then how?"

The older elf's lips quirked into another half-smile, "That is question I do not think you truly want answered."

"But of course it is." The words were upon Dheron's lips, in the air, before sense had the chance to stop him. The darkness still lingered too near, the echo of his angry words still reverberated in the temple's far corners, but his ambition rang louder still.

"I'll give you one last chance to rescind the question." Solas said quietly, "It is my final warning."

_"No."_

Standing firm in the face of doubt, Dheron challenged the bare-faced elf with every ounce of his Dalish blood, " I prayed to the God Fen'harel for the secrets you might carry. I would accept them now, in whatever form they might be."

"Indeed?" Solas smiled then, but this was no warm expression. His lips curved into a shape as sharp as any knife and the subtle glimmer in his eye promised something else altogether, "Very well then, shall we begin?"

"Yes." Dheron breathed the word.

And in that moment, the tables turned completely as magic erupted around them both, blue like veilfire, searing the surroundings with such energy that the water began to steam. But it was not the water that screamed, and it was not the _water_ that began to bleed and blister.

"Dread Wolf save me!"

Screaming in agony, Dheron tried to run, tried to leave the room but found his legs immobilized by invisible forces beyond his seeing. And when he tried to summon water, ice, snow, his hands and his powers grasped at nothing.

But the pain, though it was physical, did not reflect the agony he felt so keenly within his body. There was fire, but it seemed a gentle caress upon his skin compared to the violence that was done beneath his skin.

"Fen'harel," He begged his divine protector, screamed the words between great shuddering breaths, "Save your loyal servant."

His agonized groans for help were met with laughter, a chuckle that filled his burning veins with ice and fear, rending them nearly in two at the nauseating sensations of hot and cold warred in his tattered body.

"Oh I hear you, little elf." Solas' voice was light, almost friendly, as he responded, "And I tell you now, I _care not_."

"W-what?"

From beneath sweat soaked hair, Dheron managed to crack open on of his eyes, straining to look up to where Solas was now standing, eyes sharp as obsidian shards.

"You prayed to me you miserable excuse of a man." There was an terrible fury beneath that mild tone, a dark anger that roiled just beneath the surface, "You prayed to _ME_ and I have answered you more directly than any other."

"Dread Wolf?" Dheron looked at the other elf and shook his head in denial, "No, _it cannot be_. _You_ cannot be."

Solas snarled then, at Dheron's denial and arrogance, as his temper snapped up for a moment, revealing a fury that had not known its equal for centuries. And the magic flared, twisted upon itself and burned anew until Dheron was screaming once more.

"I can, and I _am_. And I will take my payment for what you have done in my name."

Dheron whimpered, writhed on the ground to escape the flames that seemed trapped beneath his skin.

"You harmed her, you miserable fool. You who _dared_ call her unfit." There was no missing the warning in Solas' voice now, a protectiveness that Dheron should have realized was there from the start.

"She is more _of the People_ than any I have ever met. And I will have my vengeance for what you have done."

"But you need not worry." Solas crooned softly, "All will be as you wished. You will know the Dread Wolf better than anyone still living. This is my promise to you Dheron Ehnuven. Before the end you will know me better than _anyone_."

Solas' smile was dark and terrible, a blackness that matched the soulless void of his eyes.

"I-I am so sorry!" Dheron whimpered, begged for forgiveness as he tried to drag his body across the room, away from the mild mannered elf who tortured him so easily, so effortlessly.

Desperate to get away, to stop the terrible sensation of burning and dying and hurt, he babbled, shouted all the secrets he had to share. About Lavellan, about the well, about...

"I promise I was never going to go after them. I know you probably thought I was, but I wouldn't - they're just children so I wouldn't- "

"Children?"

The pain stopped. For a single blessed beautiful second the sensation of fire and death _stopped_ as the question was posed again. But this time it was Solas who felt as if he had been gutted, run through cleanly, like a sword through the chest.

Solas' world narrowed on the word and tilted, "Say that again."

Demanding of his prisoner, he felt no remorse when the man sobbed, felt nothing when he looked at the tear-streaked face and skin that was discoloring from the magic he had cast upon him.

"I promise I would have left them alone." The younger elf whimpered, "The twins, I-I didn't even consider-"

Children. Twins.

_Lavellan had children, was a mother._

It made sense then. Solas thought back to that moment in the Between and recognized Lavellan's decision for what it was. The iron determination to return to the ruin, to end whatever threat this man posed. She had not done it for herself, had scarcely given self-preservation a thought. But she _had_ been thinking of her children, the danger they must have been in, and that had been reason enough to turn back.

She was a mother now. Solas' stomach clenched as he closed his eyes and accepted the news as fact.

She was a _mother_ , and this bastard had very likely planned on using that against her.

The realization was more than Solas was ready for, the rage more than he could control, and with a sudden unmistakable roar his temper manifested itself. And though his fingers dove into his pocket, to loop the tangled threads of her token, to anchor himself amidst the tempest that swallowed his consciousness, he knew he could not stop the Dread Wolf from completing his course.

Dheron's screams could be heard for miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter does get a bit dark - so please be aware. There is mention of physical harm and various nastiness. Please let me know if you think I should bump up the rating accordingly.
> 
> Otherwise I'll let this chapter speak for itself - enjoy!
> 
> ~Voi


	14. Revelation

The silence was more terrible than the screaming.

She had managed to get through mirror using the power of the mark. And though her brow was not sweat streaked from the exertion, she was focused more on the space around her than her heaving lungs and pounding heart. What had once been a ruin of solitude was that no longer. And she had stepped through the mirror to find a ringing, resonating cone of noise, of pain, filled by horrifying howls so unearthly it seemed the stuff of nightmare.

_Was that Solas? Had Dheron found a way to hurt him too?_

Lavellan had forced herself to swallow down the panic, the concern. Because while it was possible that Solas was the victim, it was likely, perhaps even _more_ likely, that he was not. And that alternative was worse, nearly unthinkable.

_What if that pain was Solas' doing?  
_

She could still see the expression his face when he had first met her in the Fade, when he had healed the hurt, eased the ache of her mind. There had been such anger then, not directed at her, but outward. It had turned his grey-blue eyes into little chips of ice, so cold they nearly burned.

_Could he be responsible for such agony?_

The screaming sounded wrong, cruel, as if whatever was being done was meant to extract hurt in the slowest way possible. This was not the death knell of a man, a final farewell, this was the sound of one who knew they were trapped in this world without escape.

The abrupt end to the shrieks only seemed to make it worse, for now the noise lingered in her ears, clung with ghostly fingers to her mind.

Eerie, haunting, she buried the bubbling sense of dread beneath her iron control, but could not quite prevent the slight tremble in her hands, the sound of her blood thrumming in her ears.

She had to find Dheron, because no matter where he was Solas would surely be shadowing his steps.

It was impossibly to explain how she knew such a thing other than to acknowledge that it was instinct that provided such clarity.

Circling the hall of the eluvian, staining in the dark, it struck her then that the darkness of the room was an unnatural one. Not even her elven eyes, primed and well used to seeing in the dark, could piece its shroud. Thus, she had only her thought to keep her company. However, in the wake of the chilling silence she abandoned even that to focus on moving, walking, searching for the way out.

Hand running along the slick walls of the perimeter, she found a single opening, a door way, and pushed forward. Up and up she climbed, and gradually the cavernous darkness gave way to the silvery gleam of wet stone and veilfire, a shimmering trail she follow out of that endless night.

At the end of the path she found herself faced with an intricately wrought door of gleaming silverite. Images were woven in its finely crafted surface, depictions of elves and beasts surrounded by the flowing ether of what must be secrets given form.

Bracing her hands against the rippled texture, Lavellan took a deep breath and applied just the barest amount of pressure, finding the door well and truly shut when it did not even shift in the face of her efforts. Frowning at her discovery, she redoubled the strength of her action, leaning forward as she pushed, until her hands were red and aching.

But still the door remained closed, locked, though she did not think it was through any mechanical means.

_Magic?_ She asked the voices of the well, for their insight _, Do you know a way through it?_

The answer was immediate, and chaotic, a flurry of ancient elven language that even now took considerable effort to understand.

But before she could settle on any one interpretation or solution, there was some other, more worrying sound that filled hear ears. And the musical whisperings of the well were broken, cast aside, by the deep rumbling menace of a growl, pitched low enough to vibrate the stones at her feet

A growl followed by the thunderous roar of an enraged creature.

_"I told you to give me the amulet."_ A voice admonished her from just over her shoulder, echoed in her mind, _"You should have listened, da'len."_

Pivoting, Lavellan rounded on the speaker only to find herself face-to-face with empty space. But there _was_ something there, she could see the air distort along its edges, and so she waited a beat longer.

The ghostly form of the High One materialized a moment later, his elven features more stark now in the silvery cast of the hallway.

_"I told you but you would not listen."_ Mournful, the spirit shook his head, " _And now the amulet has been used as the key to release the one creature that should have remained locked away for eternity."_

She had heard the creature, but could not imagine what sort of beast would require a magical lock to contain it.

"What do you mean?" Lavellan demanded, "What was locked away? And I _couldn_ 't trust you. I _still_ cannot."

The High One scowled at her accusingly, _"Did he teach you nothing about sprits and demons? Did he not say that it was intent as much as expectation?"_

He gestured angrily at the closed door ad the deep rumbling growl that seemed to only grow louder with time, _"This should never have happened. And I lay the responsibility of_ that _on_ you _, little elf."_

"And what is _that_ precisely?" Lavellan asked with a slight frown, "Another demon?"

_"See for yourself."_

And then the man, the spirit, was gone, leaving Lavellan to face the opening doors by herself.

The roaring was nearly deafening without the metal to muffle it. And though the sound didn't change, the underlying current of menace seemed all more keen now that the path to the still face-less creature lay unobstructed.

She didn't know what to expect, but something in her gut twisted, and when at last she stepped forward into the hall, she realized why. It was the creature of the eluvian's vision, the monster that keepers and story tellers in every clan would use to remind young elven children to be wary.

Shaggy fur dark as the void, and those six unblinking scarlet eyes.

Lavellan swallowed hard as her head craned upwards to take in its full height. There was something deeply unsettling in seeing one's childhood fear alive and real and just as dangerous as one had imagined.

_Dread Wolf._

She had thought that perhaps Dheron was the creature in disguise. But as she glanced down to where its large clawed paws contacted the floor, Lavellan's stomach twisted. Dheron's mangled body lay in a pool of blood, twisted nearly beyond recognition. It was only when she saw the telltale rise of his chest that she realized, with mounting horror, that the other elf was still alive.

But then she saw _it_ , and her surprise vanished in the face of an anger so cold and fierce it seemed wrought of the void itself. Solas' staff, utterly destroyed, lay at the beast's feet in pieces. And there, half-submerged in the bloody pool, rose its intricately wrought top, like the bow of a doomed ship. Her once-lover had not needed his staff the way the Circle mages had seemed to rely on them, but the sight of it now, a marker of such violence, shook her to the core.

_Had her trip through the mirror, the use of the amulet, broken the seal on this creature? Was she, as the High One accused, responsible for this carnage?_

It was anger not guilt that drove her to march deeper into the beast's lair. She _refused_ to believe Solas could be done it by something like this creature. They had faced Corypheus together, all manner of other fantastical beasts had fallen to their prowess.

He would not be done in by such a foe.

He _could_ not.

Lavellan dared not believe otherwise.

The monster turned its fanged features once he noticed her, wiped the blood from its muzzle and sniffed the air as she approached.

"Where is he?"

Too furious to care that she was asking a god to explain himself, Lavellan scowled as the Dread Wolf slowly sidled closer, mouth snapping in warning as it drew near.

"Where. Is. Solas? The other mage."

She used every ounce of her experience as Inquisitor to keep her voice from shaking, to straighten her spine and keep her eyes fixed on those glittery red eyes that watched her with such interest. Testing her resolve, the creature reared back, and roared anew, snarled. She still had no proper weapon with which to fight, but tempered by the anger, the frustration that had been growing for the past several weeks in captivity, she needed nothing more than the mark on her hand.

"I asked you a question."

Scowling at him, Lavellan widened her stance, balanced her weight on the balls of her feet and waited, "I have fought all manner of 'god' before. Do not think you are anything I cannot handle."

The eluvian's vision still burned brightly in her memory and she knew that this creature, Dread Wolf or not, posed a danger to more than just herself.

_Era'fen._

_Numinehn._

Her resolved strengthened with their names, and she used the time she had to glance around the hall for the Amulet she knew Solas had taken. The one _he_ had returned to her was tucked beneath her clothes once more. But though her eyes were well suited to the dark, there was not even a glitter or glint of stone she sought.

But no sooner had she glanced away when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Dread Wolf lunge, jaws snapping.

She reacted in an instant, sprang back even as her fist powered forward to land a small albeit well-aimed blow to the tender flesh of the beast's nose.

"Don't you _dare_!"

Snarling as she spoke, the mark on her hand flared in challenge, but so too did a a similar light explode from the crest of her shoulder. Bright, beaming, the green light crackled warningly when as the Dread Wolf dropped to all fours and slowly began to circle.

"I demand an answer. Where is he? Where is Solas?!"

The mark from the breach flared brighter still, the light from her shoulder following suit. In retrospect, that glimmer of light there made no sense, was something she had never seen before, but she would have to deal with that later.

"Answer me!" She shouted, arms coming wide as she faced him. "Do not think me simple. You may be an animal in shape but I am not fooled. Answer Me!"

She wore no armor, had no weapon nor shield with which to defend herself, but the look on her face was defiant, and would be to the last. It was her nature, the truest expression of her character.

Something _he_ knew. Something _he_ recognized.

The beast hesitated, and from his lips came the cracked whisper.

_"Vhenan?"_

Lavellan thought she was past being surprised, had seen all the strange things Thedas had to offer. As Inquisitor she had seen it all. But hearing his voice in her mind, seeing that familiar flash of blue beneath the red left her mute.

It was _his_ voice she heard there. It was the look in his eyes that she _knew_. Feeling her breath catch in her throat, she search frantically for some sign that she had misunderstood, that she was wrong.

What she found seemed to prove the opposite, beneath the fangs and fur, beneath that _anger_ was a man she recognized.

"How is this possible?" Shaking her head in confusion, she took a step closer, hands slowly uncurling from their fists, "Solas?"

The wolf shifted as she stepped increasingly closer, though it was impossible to tell whether it was wariness that drove him back or a trick get her close enough to bite.

_"You are a mother."_

His words were more in search of a confirmation rather than true question. Given how little she had talked about her life since they had parted, Lavellan didn't know how he had discovered such a thing. But she would not lie to him, not about this most important fact.

"Yes."

_"Twins?"_

She smiled faintly, "Two boys. They are very bright, take after their father I think. "

_"Or perhaps they take after you."_ Solas' voice was tender and a little sad, _"I am glad you found a measure of peace after Corypheus, found someone you loved enough to start a family."_

Her smile faltered then.

"I..." She didn't know how to explain to him now, she had imagined this scenario so differently. "I didn't find anyone, Solas. I had the children within a year of Corypheus' defeat."

The silence that followed was deafening.

_"I..."_ the wolf's ears twitched, _"Forgive me, I am not sure I understand."_

She looked up at the man who had given her children, the man who she realized, she knew very little about. There were a hundred different questions she wanted to ask him, now more than ever. But first she needed him to understand what had happened between them, what had _grown_.

"They are _your_ sons, Solas."

And though she had phrased it as plainly and gently as possible, his sharp inhale of surprise spoke loudly enough.

_"What?"_

Denial and horror filled that singular word, the shock of it like a magical ripple through the air. And in that moment the wolf disappeared leaving Solas to stand there on unsteady legs as he tried to cross the short space between them.

"I am the father?" His bloodied hand pointed at his chest, smearing crimson across it like a badge. At her quiet nod, he took another sharp shuddering breath as he rocked back on his heels, pale face nearly ashen. She crossed the distance, caught him by the shoulders when it looked as if he might collapse. But the expression on his face, the look in his eyes made her swallow hard and there was no helping the emotion that surged so swiftly to the surface.

Because despite the surprise and fear in his voice, there was a smile on his lips. A pure and gentle expression of such joy that her eyes stung to see it.

"Twins." He breathed the word again, and this time she heard the emotion beneath that considered tone.

His blue eyes caught hers, clear and sharp, wide in wonder for only a moment before fatigue forced them suddenly shut.

She caught him before he fell.


	15. Unraveled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hello my darlings! I can't believe how much attention this fic is getting, so thanks to everyone who has recently joined (as well as all of my old favorites who have been here since the beginning)!
> 
> As mentioned earlier this chapter will wrap up the first 'arc' of our little adventure. I am currently working on the structure of the second so there may be delays getting the next chapter out. However, I do have a final 'end game' in mind so we'll get there!
> 
> Also, many of you requested I keep the next arc in this same fic - I am gladly following your suggestions, so stay tuned as the story will continue here and not in some new titled fic.
> 
> To mentally sort this, I've considered this the 'Unraveled' Arc - and the next series of chapters will be part of the 'Entangled' Arc.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone for their enthusiasm, comments and follows - it means a lot!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~Voi

The candlelight flickered in the dark, golden and bright. Lavellan watched it fight against the slight draft of the room, resilient and strong as it fed off the well oiled wick. Hypnotized by its graceful dance, the sway and twist of its fiery body, she drew her eyes away only when the soft murmurings of the man on the bed grew louder.

_Solas._

The warm light played upon his features, but he was ultimately lost to the dark, fast asleep as he had been for nearly two days. He hadn't woken since his collapse in the temple.

Neither sick nor wounded, his lapse into such a deep sleep worried her as much as if he had suffered some sort of injury. She knew he preferred the company of spirits, spent long stretches of time in the Fade, but he had rarely disappeared for such a length of time before. Not since they had found that spirit of wisdom in the Exalted Plains.

His situation now had made her trek from the temple to this village that much more difficult. The appearance of her Hart, the one she had left to graze back at the grove, had been such a stroke of luck she had not quite made sense of, but its appearance had saved her great trouble. And when she had used its strong body to carry both men, it had comforted her as well, nudging her affectionately as they walked in search of a village, a town, that could boast a healer.

Led by the words of the High One who had appeared once more shortly after Solas' collapse she had found a place of rest. But after several weeks of rough living and feeling hunted, the quiet of this village, the kindness of the people she met, left her at a loss.

Lavellan swallowed hard as she remembered the concerned look of the elder as she had spun her story, of being attacked by a large animal. She hadn't expected to feel guilty, but their freely given hospitality had made it that much more precious.

When she returned to the keep she would find a way to pay them back. The Inquisition was not short on anything these days, so it was the very least she could do.

"Vhenan?"

The word was spoken so clearly that she looked down at him, only to find his eyes were still shut and he was still asleep. She exhaled at the pain that knotted itself around her chest, noticing for the first time the way her hand had come to rest over his, finger tip just barely touching the warm rough skin of his palm.

It took more effort to pull her hand away than she would have liked to admit.

He looked so peaceful, more at ease than she had seen him. The quiet now afforded her time to see what time had wrought, to see the almost imperceptible changes of his person. And they were very nearly impossible to see. He aged well, it seemed.

Though, now that she knew the truth, it should not have surprised her.

_Dread Wolf._

She followed that feeling of shock, the surprise, back to that final conversation she had with the High One shortly after Solas' collapse. Even now the memory seemed like a parody of reality, too impossible to have actually happened.

_"It worked."_

She had never heard the spirit sound so pleased before. And, given what had just happened, she was not entirely sure that his happiness was a good thing. He had never done anything to harm her, yet, but he had not stopped anything either.

Turning to look up at his taller form, Lavellan frowned.

"What do you mean?"

The spirit turned, looked at her in return.

_"You."_

"Me?" Baffled, Lavellan glanced at Solas for only a moment before turning back to where the spirit continued to watch her with unblinking eyes.

_"Did you not wonder why you could remember your memories after coming back from the Fade?"_

"I assumed it was Solas' doing." She could still remember the feather-soft touch of his fingers on her temple, the warmth of his breath upon her brow.

_"You thought he had_ that _sort of power as he was?"_ The spirit scoffed, _"No. It was you. When you fought Dheron's use of the amulet, back before the temple, you cracked it with the power of your mark."_

When she remained silent, face blank, he continued.

_"There is a shard missing from the amulet. The smallest splinter, but it is enough."_

"A shard?"

The spirit cackled, raised a finger and pointed it at her shoulder, the one that had burst with light when she had held the Dread Wolf at bay. _"It went into you. And that shard was enough to allow you to retain your memories, allowed you to combat the amulet's powers."_

_"It was this same shard that allowed you to hold off the Dread Wolf._

"What do you mean?" Lavellan shifted uncomfortably, the thought that yet another magical accident was responsible for a convenient increase in magical ability was disconcerting to one who had never actively sought such power.

_"The mark on your hand, it resonates with the shard of the magic contained in that shard of amulet."_

Lavellan was hardly a simple minded woman, but his longer discussion of magical resonance and natural compatibilities lost her completely.

The High One sighed, _"To explain it in depth would take too long. But suffice to say that the mark on your hand and the power of the Dread Wolf contained in that amulet shard are of the same magic. The same source."_

"The _mark_ comes from the Dread Wolf's power?"

There had to be some mistake. Solas had never mentioned the specifics of the Foci's origin, but it seemed too convenient that it belong to the same Elven god that now seemed in control of his body.

"Did the Dread Wolf possess Solas?" Lavellan felt something twist in her stomach.

_Was this why he had warned her away at the Temple of Mythal? Because he was bound to the will of another elven god, forced to do its bidding?_

Floundering in the face of the unknown, she shook her head, feeling as if she might want and fear the answer to her question at the same time.

_"Possessed by the Dread Wolf?"_ The High One seemed surprised, _"Do you not see it? The one you know as Solas was_ born _into that power. He was born Fen'harel."_

Of all the surprises, lies and truths that had been shared thus far it was _this_ _one_ that threatened to break her heart cleanly through.

"Fen'harel?"

She whispered the name, tasted it anew, found it bitter, like ashes in her mouth.

_"He has not used that name, that title, in centuries, but it is his legacy. One I imagine he bestowed upon his children."_

Lavellan felt her face drain at the words and reached out to grip the stone balustrade beside her.

"The children?"

She had not even consider that implication, had barely even begun to conceive the implications for the Inquisition. This realization struck harder and closer to home.

_"That is something you will have to discuss with him. You know how children are conceived among the People. It is as much about magic and will as it is nature taking its course."_

There was a sudden roaring silence that followed, loaded with a near hysterical urge to begin screaming. It would have been appropriate, she thought, but not helpful, never helpful, and so she ignored it as best she could.

Instead she took a long, slow inhale followed by an equally precise exhale. And when she was sure every scrap of willpower was properly locked around her roiling, screaming self, she nodded.

"Yes of course. I will have to talk to him about that when he wakes."

But he hadn't woken. Not then, and not now.

Returning her gaze to the flickering candlelight that burned at his bedside, Lavellan felt the ache in her throat, in her chest, return.

It was impossible to stay there a moment longer, not when so much lay between them. The gulf, the chasm, seemed so much bigger now than it had been, insurmountable even.

Lies, so many of them. It wasn't that she could not understand or empathize, but...

_No matter what happens next, what we had was real._

Her eyes stung, burned, from the tears that she refused to cry over him. She did not even know who he was, so how could it possibly have been real?

She left his room a moment later, unable to stand the silence. Down the hall, out of the small guest home, she walked through the darkened streets of the village until she arrived at the healer's cottage.

Nodding to the attendant and assistant healer, Lavellan glanced through the door to where their charge was sleeping.

"How is he doing?"

She dared not enter the room, could not quite overcome her anger enough to do so, but she could see Dheron well enough from where she stood. Swathed in bandages, the rust colored stains of old blood had long since given way to the brighter color of healing wounds.

He looked much better than he had, not quite whole, not as he had once been. But perhaps that was why she did not hate him as she might have.

Listening to both women talk about his slow road to recovery was soothing in its banality. It would take another week at least before he could be expected to regain full consciousness, their use of sedatives sped his healing but at the expense of awareness.

It was, to Lavellan's mind, an apt trade.

But no amount of healing would be able to fully undo the damage. He was almost unrecognizable after what the Dread Wolf, she swallowed, after what _Solas_ had done to him. And if what she suspected was true, then it was unlikely Dheron would ever regain full use of his eyes, nevermind walk or speak.

_Would Solas be capable of such things again?_

The answer she had received from the High One gave her little reassurance.

Shaken and sad, she had gestured to Solas' prone body in the temple and asked her question. "Is there...he seemed so out of control when I stepped into the hall. Is there anything I can do?"

_"It is the truth of his character to act like that, would you have him be something he is not?"_

"No. But he was not himself, you said that yourself. You warned me the Dread Wolf never should have been freed. So what can I do?"

The spirit was silent for a long moment, assessing, considering, before providing his solution.

_"Your token, the one you wear around your neck now, it has sylvan wood woven into the strands. Return it to him. It will help."_

She understood the undercurrent of his words well enough, "But not a lot."

_"No, not a lot."_ The spirit admitted, _"And the Dread Wolf will assert himself more as he learns of this world. You will need Dirthamen's amulet or something stronger_ _ _if you wish his more elven side to remain in control._."_

"What sort of artifact would that be?" Lavellan demanded, feeling as if she were faced once more with an impossible task. There was no sign of Dirthamen's token, not anymore.

_"It need not be ancient. But it must be a masterwork of elven design. Seek out those that carry the blood of June in their veins. They still nurture the old ways."_

"There is no one descended from the elven gods among the Dalish." Lavellan protested, "Can you imagine what would happen if anyone made such a claim? The clans would have raised them above all others for that reason."

_"_ Your _children are descended from an elven gods."_ The High One pointed out, _"They are but the most recent additions. The bloodline of June has mingled with those of the People since the beginning. It is possible they no longer understand it, but his heirs will have an affinity for craft that is unparalleled."_

"Do you have someone in mind?" Lavellan asked, "A name? Or a clan?"

_"Ah little elf. I am not Dirthamen himself."_ The spirit seemed amused, pleased, _"I know only that which appears in my temple, and no child of June has appeared for some time. But once upon a time they did, and that is what matters."_

_"You will want to return to your clan for more information. Those with the gift of crafting often know their peers best. It is likely you will find a lead there."_

Lavellan returned to the guest home, opened the door to Solas' room and found him as still and silent as ever.

She had sent word to her clan that she was still on her way, but there was little she could do in the meantime. A second letter, meant for the Inquisition had been drafted as well, but thus far it remained folded in her pocket. To involve them now would be to court Dorian's anger on her behalf as well as the sharp-eyed gaze of her spymaster. And she did not need them there, not when she could still handle this herself.

Besides there was to be an arlathvhen, and for the more traditional clans, the appearance of humans would be uncomfortable. She had hoped to arrive early, to prepare, but now it seemed she had little choice. The clans would already be assembled by the time she made it to Halamshiral, especially since she had yet to make it to Wycome.

_But would Solas be coming with her? Would she truly be responsible for bringing the Dread Wolf into the midst of so many Dalish?_

It was a question for another time, though it was one she would have to answer soon.

For now she could focus on him, on _Solas_.

Checking the windows, she crossed the room to light a second candle and straighten the tattered remains of his clothes. She would visit the leatherworker in the hopes of finding appropriate replacements. But there were a few things that had survived.

She drew near his sleeping form to see both the knot she had returned and his own talisman lying upon his chest. Looking at its dark polished surface, Lavellan had to admire the sort of beautiful symmetry of the wolf-jaw now that she knew it for what it was. A reminder, a warning even.

She would never dismiss such a small detail again. And so it was that when she sat down beside him that she saw it.

A second Lover's Knot.

_Hers_.

Little more than a crumpled ball of string and strands, the mess entangling his fingers has not been there when she had left. But as she followed it's tangled trail from his pocket, she realized he had kept it close all along. It seemed impossible that it be there, but when she leaned forward, caught sight of the telltale twist of hair and wood and silver, she knew it to be true. And though she managed to slide it from his grip, she could not bring herself to cast it aside as she once had. Neither could she bring herself to rethread its intricate knots.

It seemed that unraveled did not mean undone.

But she did not know what to do with that knowledge either.

And as she watched him, Lavellan felt her conviction shudder, for even she could not say whether the ache of her heart was from hurt or if the hot bloom in her chest was what it felt like when one dared to hope again.

* * *

END ARC: UNRAVELED


	16. Silence

Lavellan woke to find Solas gone.

Sheets carefully folded, windows open to allow the soft breeze of morning, the room looked as if he had never been there.

Stepping into the silence, into the space that luxuriated in the sunshine, Lavellan felt her throat tighten though she shied away from the emotion that came with it. Inhaling slowly, carefully, she traced the simple curve of the bed with a hand, watched the dust motes scatter the light like crystal.

Quiet.

She tried to find some semblance of peace along with it, but there was only the uncomfortable twist in her gut, the conscious effort it took to swallow. Part of her wondered why she had expected anything different, had he not done the same thing those many years ago?

Vanished without a word. Gone.

She inhaled again, smoothly, but the exhale was a sharp jagged thing.

Why?

Her hand came up to massage the hurt that seemed lodged in her throat, the ache that would not be assuaged. But more than the pain was the worry, the concern.

He was not the man she knew.

The man she knew was nothing more than a façade, a mask.

Such a betrayal should have burned hot enough to fuel her anger, but she had never truly been one to hold grudges. Even ones of this magnitude. And though she would demand explanation, the time for personal grievances had to wait.

Still, the realization, the truth, did provide insight. Another lens with which she looked back on the memories, the past seemed more stark with the truth now in mind. And there was no dulling the grief that had nearly proved debilitating in the months that had followed his inexplicable disappearance.

He had not gleefully spread untruths, but neither he revealed that dark secret to her.

_Had he not believed her trustworthy?_

Her foot nudged something beneath the bed before she could give the thought further consideration. Bending down, she paused when her hands found the articles carefully stowed there, neatly arranged.

His belt, his bag, his cloak.

If he had left he would have taken his things with him, of that she had no doubt. Their appearance there filled with her just enough hope that he might still yet remain.

But where? She was sweeping through the village a moment later, mind leading her to the only other place he could be.

It stood there, at the edge of the village, a warning and a reminder.

A shrine.

Perhaps for him, it would be a beacon. And she was correct.

Tall, unbending, with his hands tucked behind him, he seemed to be in no rush as he stood by the Fen'harel statue. But she knew him, despite his lies, she could still read the tension in his body, the longing in his eyes as he looked out at the land the stretched outward.

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she walked among the thick grasses of the meadow to where he seemed to be examining the tree line, the fog that caressed the emerald boughs like a lover.

"Good morning." He greeted her pleasantly as she drew near, seemingly unaware of the turmoil he had caused, "Did you sleep well?"

Lavellan stepped closer, hugging the light cloak around her shoulders, "I slept peacefully all things considered."

"Ah, good." He shifted his stance, fidgeted.

"Solas?"

She turned so that she could look at him properly, could see the hint of distress that he tried to hide behind those sad eyes. Once upon a time it would have been all to easy to cross that space between them and slide into his arms, comfort him with touch, and warmth and heart. Now all she could provide was a collection of questions, heartfelt, but not what a spirit might need for soothing.

"What is it?" Cautiously, patiently, she waited for his response.

"I...did not enjoy my time in the Fade as I usually do."

Her expression creased, "What do you mean?"

Shrugging as if to diminish the seriousness of what he had said, Solas met her gaze for only a moment before refocusing on the forest.

"It was not as I remembered it. That is all."

He forced a smile to his lips, but the sight of it only made the strain more apparent, pronounced.

"Did Fen'harel hunt you?"

She asked the question delicately, and though he said nothing, the look her gave her, the lift of his brows, told her that she had surprised him.

"I talked with a spirit in the temple. It seemed to know you...him...it."

Gesturing vaguely, Lavellan sighed, "I want to ask you a thousand different questions, to _understand_. But my first concern is whether or not you are ok."

His exhale was as silent as the air around them, "I..." he shook his head, "You seem to be taking all of this rather well in stride."

He looked at her, _really_ _looked_ at her as another smile found itself on his lips, this one fleeting though it was genuine, "You continue to surprise me, you know. And not just about the children."

"We can talk about the boys later." Lavellan said softly, unwilling to be led astray, "I asked if you were ok, and you still have not given me an answer."

And she was right.

His hesitation was tempered by her straightforwardness, and eventually he responded to what she had asked. "It has been a long time since I have dealt with that part of myself. It was, unsettling to find it very much unchanged despite the passing of time."

"How so?"

His uneasy expression spoke for itself and she let the question drop, though her own expression tightened for a moment as she looked away.

Touching the token, the knot that lay next to his amulet, Solas lapsed into another small silence before he said softly, "Thank you for returning this."

She didn't look back, but knew what he was talking about, "The spirit at the temple suggested it might help you."

He turned, "That is the second time you have mentioned a spirit. Do you know what it was? Or perhaps _who_ he was? "

It was her turn to shrug, "He referred to himself as the High One, though I do not know who he was before that."

Solas considered her words, "I see."

"About the token - it won't help for long." Lavellan frowned as she elaborated, "We need to find someone capable of crafting an elven masterwork if you're going to properly balance out your magic."

"Balancing my magic?" He looked at her, "Just who have you been talking to about _that_?"

"If you leave now there will be precious little time for you to remain as you are." She rushed on, "The High One spoke of balancing natures, of light and dark. That the power of the foci, the one that Corypheus used, was your light and without it the presence of the Dread Wolf, your dark, is volatile."

"Is there nothing you do not know about me now?" He wondered, looking at the pained expression of her face.

"I did not wish to find out like that." Wounded, her voice had twisted into a stricken whisper, "I never wanted to know the truths you were unwilling to share with me."

"Now who is being false?" He smiled gently, "I know you wondered."

"Yes. But I wanted _you_ to tell me. To _trust_ me enough to-" she cut herself off, felt the agony wash over her as she took several steps backward, turned to go.

"Lavellan."

His smile fell away as he glimpsed the hurt in her eyes, the paleness of her face. He had meant for his teasing to be lighthearted, but it seemed he had stumbled upon a tender spot instead. Catching her upper arm as she brushed past him, his grip was light enough that she might still leave if she wanted to. Instead she chose to stop.

But looking at the sorrow of her features made him feel as if the weight of his decisions had fallen upon her shoulders instead. And perhaps in a way they had.

After all, she already bore the mark of his foci, and had born his children.

"I cannot promise that I will stay long enough to find this craftsman." He apologized, "There is still much to be done."

"It is _your_ choice." She closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself, "Leave today, tomorrow, the decision is yours."

"However." She looked up at him them, fierce and determined, "If you commit to this, to ignore the help offered and embrace that power, know that we may find ourselves on opposite sides of a line I _will not_ cross."

"I understand." He did not like her words, but knew the truth of them, the danger that he would be courting if he ignored the imbalance within himself.

"I will not allow you to endanger the people of Thedas, my clan or the Inquisition. But most of all I will not allow you to harm _our children_. No matter what history lies between us. If you choose this path, I will kill you should you ever venture close."

Drawn but resolute she watched him with such sad eyes, "Do you understand? I will not compromise their safety. Not for anyone, not even you."

And if ever there was a time in the past where he believed he loved her, it paled in comparison to this moment now. For in that _question_ , in those words, she won him over once more. There was no doubting her skill as a warrior, as a mother, as one who had once been strong and brave enough to love him despite his flaws.

"I would have nothing less." He said, and meant it, "I promise that I will let you know as soon as I am able. As soon as my decision is finalized."

She nodded, the movement jerky and uneven, but she didn't look away this time. Instead she held it there, for a moment, for a breathless eternity.

_You would love them._

She did not say the words, but he could read them on her face, in her eyes.

_You would love our children if you but knew them._

And he would have loved them. He _did_ love them. But he did not need to meet them to know he loved them already, for they were of her heart, her body, and her strength.

_Vhenan_

The silence descended on them then, leaving them to consider the fog and the forest, and the long shadow the Dread Wolf had cast upon them all.


End file.
